


No Exchanges, No Returns

by All_the_damned_vampires



Series: Retail Therapy [3]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Abduction, Agoraphobia, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Claustrophobia, Confinement, Crying, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dissociation, Domestic Discipline, Dreams and Nightmares, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Eating Disorders, Enemas, Food Issues, Gallows Humor, Gaslighting, Hand Feeding, Harry Potter References, Horror but with breaks for Porn, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Learning Disabilities, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Mild Gore, Mindfuck, Minor Character Death, Multiple Dream Jensens, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-consensual Medical Procedures, Non-violent Restraint Technique, Panic Attacks, Panties, Police Incompetence, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Sibling Rivalry, Sounding, Spanking, Subdrop, Surveillance, Temperature Play, Touch-Starved, drug interactions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 28
Words: 80,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5625931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/All_the_damned_vampires/pseuds/All_the_damned_vampires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not a meet-cute if the guy in question mistakenly thinks he's hired you to act in his rape fantasy.  And it's definitely not a love story when said guy kidnaps you and tries to make you his sex slave.</p><p>Jared can't help his feelings for Jensen, the hitman who abducted him and is missing in action.  Now a hostage of Jensen's mobster family, Jared tries to walk a fine line, not willing to piss off Jensen's father and sister, but pretty sure that whatever he does, it is not going to go well for him.</p><p>Jared's got the absolute worst luck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Another Four Walls

**Author's Note:**

> I was not ready to start working on the sequel. I was TRYING to take a nap today. You can all thank my stupid brain for this. Updates will be sporadic at best.  
> You do not have to read the first two installments (the content of both is included in the summary for this piece) but it might help.

It was a very nice room.  Lush, creamy carpeting, silvery wallpaper.  A large, four poster bed in light wood, with luxurious bedding.  Off the bedroom, an en-suite bath done in marble, the vanity piled high with soft, fluffy towels.  Running water and a toilet.  It was no dank and frightening basement.

The lock had clicked behind Jared with a little ping and the buzz of a keypad being set.  His arms feeling a bit bruised from being strong-armed up the stairs by some nameless men, Jared  paced around the room.  It was beyond tempting to collapse down on the bed and cry, but Jared wasn’t quite ready to give in to despair.

No clothes in the walk-in closet.  Jared sighed.  Of course.  It was a little frustrating to think that he wasn’t even going to be given some basic dignity before he was sent off to die.

_So we get rid of him, Tim, what even is there to talk about?  Jensen in exchange for…whoever his flavor of the month is this time._

Blinking back tears, Jared wandered over to the window.  High-tech security there as well, a wire set in the pane of glass.  Below the window, out on the manicured grounds, a man in black walking a German Shepherd strode past.  Jared watched and counted under his breath.  Ten minutes later, the man circled back around again.

Trapped.  Jared swallowed down the panic.  The room was big enough, bright enough, that his phobias were under control.  He didn’t like that he couldn’t leave, but he’d been in a similar situation for over a month.  He should be used to doors he couldn’t open.

_Why wouldn’t we just give in to their demands and make the trade?  Who cares about this kid?_

Jared hadn’t heard much of the conversation Jensen’s father had been having with Tim and the red-headed woman standing beside him.  With a jerk of Jensen’s father’s hand, Jared had been whisked away, up a grand spiral staircase, and into a bedroom suite that just so happened to be tricked out like a prison cell.

Jensen’s father.  Jared had been sure Jensen had said his dad was dead.  A lie, maybe.  Jensen had let them fall off his tongue as easy as breathing.  Where was Jensen now? It was sick, even feeling as scared and betrayed as he did, for Jared to worry about Jensen.  What were his accommodations like?  Was he being hurt?  Tortured?  The idea should give Jared some sort of satisfaction, but it didn’t.  Despite everything Jensen had  put him through, Jared didn’t have it in his heart to take pleasure in this ironic turn of events.  He didn’t want revenge, just freedom.

If you can even handle it now, Jared’s mind whispered nastily but Jared pushed it away to take stock of his possible resources for escape and self-defense.

Nothing in the bathroom, unless Jared wanted to try to use the shampoo bottle as a club or sharpen a toothbrush into a shiv.  He could break the window—maybe, if the glass wasn’t reinforced—and have a precious minute or two to flee the grounds, being run down by all the power and speed of an attack dog.

There was nothing in the room.  Nothing that Jared could see as being useful.  He was no MacGyver.  But the time spent scouring the space and considering his options was time not spent worrying himself sick about his future.

_Dead or alive? What do they want?  Why shouldn’t we put the kid’s head in a bag and send it to them if that’s what it takes?_

Pacing wasn’t as useful but Jared soon ran out of places to check in the room.  He paced until his stomach cramped with fear, and then he went in the bathroom and threw up bile.  Afterwards he pillowed his head on the cool floor and wished for some kind of drugs to take him away from the awful, awful waiting.

Pity party over temporarily, Jared wandered over to the window to count the guard’s travel time around the mansion again.  Ten minutes each time, with military precision.  After an hour, Jared gave up and lay down on the bed.

He wanted his pills.

After a while, Jared fell into a fitful doze.  There was only so much terror the body and mind could take at a time.  He jerked awake every few minutes, falling back into a semi-conscious state each time once he managed to slow his heart beat and his breathing.

Where was Jensen?  Stupid to miss him and stupid to want him.  Especially after that last, terrible day.

Jared guessed he was just weak.  He’d rather be someone’s pet than be dead. 

Maybe he’d rather be dead than be alone.


	2. Just A Little Fact Finding

Jared came out of his light, troubled doze with a start when he realized another person was sitting on the bed.  He blinked his sticky eyes, rearing back slightly.  It was the red-haired woman from the previous night.  She was sitting relaxed against the headboard, bare ankles crossed on top of the coverlet.  As Jared shifted, she turned to look at him fully.  Her full mouth was set in an almost-smile, but Jared couldn’t honestly say there seemed to be anything friendly about her.

“Hi,” the woman said.  She looked casual; button-down shirt tied up neat on her waist, dark denim jeans hugging her curves.  Her hair was piled on her head in a twist.

“Hi,” Jared answered cautiously.  He tugged the sheet up higher on his waist, but it didn’t move much with the woman sitting on it.  He was so tired of being naked in front of people.

“So you’re Jared, right?”  It’s Alaina.  Not much time for introductions last night. ”

“Alaina,” Jared repeated. “Nice to meet you.”

Alaina chuckled humorously. “Polite.  And no, I’m sure it’s not nice to meet me.  Being dragged naked through a strange house usually isn’t on anyone’s wish list, but you never know what some people are in to.”

Jared couldn’t help but flush a bit at Alaina’s words and as he did she narrowed her eyes and tapped a manicured finger against her bottom lip.

“So, Jensen’s never brought anyone home before.  Never shown much interest in anyone but himself.  I mean, he’s loyal to Dad, but that goes without saying. How did you two meet?”

Jared didn’t bother to correct her.  It’s not like Jensen asked him to a family dinner.  Jensen had been abducted, held by a rival crime family, and if what Jared heard last night was any indication, soon Jensen’s dad would be handing Jared over in exchange.  But the use of the name ‘Dad’ had Jared pricking up his ears.

“Jensen is your brother?”

Alaina’s face shuttered in a cold, strange way. “He is _not_ my brother. Just because we were fostered by the same man doesn’t make us family—“

She cut off and laughed a bit ruefully. “Clever.  You hit just the right button, Jared, although I doubt you intended to.  Jeff adopted us both when we were teenagers.  Me first, Jensen two years later.  We’ve never really gotten along.  Too similar, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” Jared replied, feeling like he was standing on unsteady ground.  Alaina’s face immediately shifted back to the pleasant, slightly penetrating expression she had worn before.  Jared was getting the sneaking suspicion that this was an interrogation of sorts—no scary instruments of torture, but instead words with multiple meanings behind them, and Alaina’s sharp, observant stare.

“I’m not.  We were in competition from the minute he came into the house.  Drives Dad crazy.”

“That’s too bad for your dad.  He probably loves you both.”

Alaina narrowed her eyes. “Probably. So, back to you.  I don’t know much, but I know Jensen killed to keep you safe, which is why he’s in the mess he’s in now.  So, how did you meet?”

Jared didn’t want to tell her.  It was not just some misguided loyalty towards Jensen, although that may have been part of it.  Telling a virtual stranger what her not-brother had done-- _raped me and abducted me and somehow made me fall in love with him because I’m a weak, pathetic thing_ \--wasn’t on Jared’s list of things he wanted to admit.

“This is how I think it went down,” Alaina continued, eyes sparkling. “You’re walking home from work in the dark, purse under your arm, little heels clicking nervously against the sidewalk, when some creeps peel away from the shadows and force you into some dark alley, twisting your wrist and making you cry.  You’re on your knees, lipstick smeared, stockings soaking up the filth of the pavement, ready for the worst, when Jensen swoops in like some white knight, laying out the bad guys with one manly, solid punch.  You look up at him, mascara streaking down your cheeks, smiling in trembling gratitude, and fall in love.”

Jared blinked. “Are you fucking with me?”

Alaina laughed, one sharp bark of laughter. “Of course I am.  I am fucking with you. Although the image of you in stockings and heels…hm, nope, you didn’t like that at all, did you?”

“Of course not.” Strangely though, Jared could see Alaina’s description in his mind, his large feet shoved incongruously into teetering heels.  It was…strange.

“So, tell me your version of the greatest love story that ever was.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Jared said, finding himself driven to honesty. “I had a run in with some mobsters.  Jensen saw me, he wanted me, and he killed the guys and took me.  No great love story.”  If Jared’s voice wobbled a bit on the word ‘love’, it was not his fault.

“Hm.”

“Look, I just want to go home,” Jared tried, because he had said it a million times or so.  Someone, somewhere, must want to listen to him.

“Not much chance of that,” Alaina said bluntly. “Dad’s been arguing with Tim most of the night about getting rid of you.  It’s what the Pellegrino family wants.  You in exchange for Jensen.”

Heart clenching with fear, Jared flinched back against the head board of the bed.

“And Tim, strangely enough, has been fighting very hard to keep you safe and here.”

Jared felt a surge of hope.  Ridiculous.  Tim didn’t really know him, care about him.  And Tim wasn’t in charge.  If Jared wasn’t turned over to the Pellegrino family, he was being sent straight back to Jensen once he was freed.

“What…what do you think they would do to me?”

Alaina tilts her head. “The Pellegrino family? You’re asking me to give you nightmares?”

“I don’t want to stick my head in the sand and pretend this isn’t happening.”  Pretending Jensen was a decent sort was one thing.  Not facing up to the fact that he might be dead by the end of the week was too delusional for even Jared’s tastes.

“Smart,” Alaina and then smiled faintly as Jared shifted in reaction to the word. “I mean, you seem to have a good head on your shoulders.” She reached out and placed her hand gently on Jared’s. “Most people don’t want to face up to the truth.”

Her words and her touch felt so good.  Jared blinked back the stinging tears suddenly gathering in his eyes.  He swallowed hard, reaching for control.  He was not going to fall into someone else’s lap, bawling like a baby, because his life seemed to be one long tumble into shitty situations.

Alaina’s fingers crept up Jared’s wrist, trailing along his bicep, nails scratching lightly. She purred, “I admire a man who faces up to what life throws at him.”

Confused by the change in tone, the gleam in Alaina’s eyes that seemed both sexual and threatening, Jared froze like a mouse being targeted by a snake.  He darted his eyes down and away, not looking at her.

Alaina pulled her hand away and shrugged. “Sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.  My bad. Anyway,” she went on, her tone impersonal, “What they do to you depends on the head of the family.  Mark was her brother, but there wasn’t much love between them.  I can relate.  She may feel she has to kill you though, just to make a point.  I don’t know what else they could want you for.  Do you, Jared?”

Jared shook his head, intimidated, confused, a bit like he had some kind of emotional whiplash.

“What are you good for…I mean, what did you do for a living, before?”

“What do you do?” Jared countered, tired of feeling like he was being manipulated.  It was strange, to be talking to someone who in no way seemed to be lying—so unlike Jensen—but sensing that there was a whole other conversation going on, one that he wasn’t privy to.

“Finances,” Alaina answered calmly. “Was always a whiz at math.  Dad’s been letting me cook the books since before I graduated college.  What about you? College?”

“Not really my thing.”

“Hm.  A job?”

Jared shrugged. “Bartender.  Waiter.  Bouncer.  Stock boy.  Whatever was available.”

“Blue collar work.  Seems like a waste, I mean, you’re pretty enough to be a model.”

Jared flushed again, feeling somehow embarrassed. “It’s honest work.”

“Yes it is,” Alaina agreed.  She looked at him expectantly. “You never modeled? Acted? Danced?  Worked a pole? Worked a corner?”

“Look, what do you want from me?” Jared asked, exasperated and annoyed at her insinuations.  It wasn’t selling sex, what he had been doing for the past month.  It had been assault.  Even the fiercely tender times—Jensen over him, inside him, telling Jared he loved him—well, he hadn’t gotten paid, had he?

“Not so polite now,” Alaina murmured, smiling. “I’m getting what I want from you, Jared.  Everything that I want.  Don’t worry, you’re doing great.”

“Look, I don’t have any secrets.  Or dirt on Jensen.  I don’t have anything.”

“I’m sorry if you find my conversation style unsettling.  I’ve never felt the need to adhere to social niceties. But I thought a chat with a semi-friendly face was preferable to stewing away in this room, worrying about what was going to happen to you.  A distraction from the stress and the fear.”

“Thank you,” Jared said reluctantly, knowing there had been somehow much more to their conversation.

“Anyway,” Alaina said, standing and dusting her hands. “I’ll talk to Dad.  See if you can come out of your room for the duration.  You’ve seen the security, there’s no real chance you can escape.  You can hang out with the family while you’re waiting for the axe to fall.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“No, it’s honest.  Do you have family looking for you, Jared?”

“No.” It was long past time for Jared to admit the truth.  No one was looking for him.

 Alaina ran her eyes over Jared critically. “Did you want some clothes?”

“P-pardon me?”

“I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to be dressed,” Alaina said, eyes sparkling with impish good-humor.

“Yes.  Clothes.  Clothes would be nice. Thank you.”  Jared pulled the sheet up to his chest, blushing.

“I’ll ask,” she promised. “What did Jensen like to keep you in, anyway?”

“Wh-what?”  Immediately Jared’s mind went to the ‘sullen schoolboy’ costume, the only thing Jensen had ever provided for him in terms of clothes.  He was not going to offer up that slutty, skin-tight get-up as something he ‘should’ be wearing.

“Just wanted you to be comfortable.”

“Anything is fine, thanks.”

“I’ll figure something out,” Alaina said. “See you later, Jared.”

As she left the room, the lock on the door clicked shut and Jared flopped down on the bed, quietly groaning.  He wasn’t sure what had happened, but he felt like he’d been run over by a steam roller.

 

**

 

Alaina sauntered down the hall, humming.  At the top of the stairs, she nearly bumped into Tim.

“What were you doing?” Tim demanded.

“What are you doing?” Alaina replied, rolling her eyes.  She moved to go down the stairs, but Tim blocked her path.

“Careful, Tim.”

“Why were you in Jared’s room?”

“Just getting to know the lad,” Alaina answered, shrugging. “And I go where I please, do what I want.  I don’t answer to you.”

“He’s not for you.”

“You think I’m trying to steal Jensen’s prize toy?” Alaina laughed. “I don’t have a death wish, you know.  And here’s a news flash for you: Jared isn’t for you, either.”

Tim stepped back from her, steely-blue eyes narrowed.

“I like him,” Alaina answered. “He’s nice.  Polite, fairly honest.  Not too gullible.  Low self-esteem. Some daddy issues. And submissive as the day as long, what an obedient, praise-hungry pet Jensen picked up for himself.”

“Don’t drag Jared into this petty war you have going with Jensen.”

“Nothing petty about it,” she answered. “And I’m not the one that made off with one of Pellegrino’s prize whores.”

“He’s not a whore.”

“Oh Tim, you’re gone on him, too.  Poor thing. That’s nice actually.  Makes things easier.”

“Leave Jared out of it.”

“I think I could fall in love with him, too,” Alaina mused. “Of course, Jensen would probably kill anyone who looked at the kid sideways.  Anyway, don’t worry about Jared.  I’m not going to hurt him, I’m going to help him.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that, either,” Tim said, face stern.

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Alaina said cheerfully, gently patting Tim’s cheek.

“Well now I’m really worried.”

“I’m going to help you.  Together we’ll keep Jared safe.”

“ _And then what_?”

“Oh Tim,” Alaina said, sighing. “You’re a competent fellow, but entirely too dull-witted.  And loyal to the wrong person.  What has Jensen ever done for you?”

“Whatever you try, I’m going to stop you.”

“Awesome,” Alaina said, and she moved gracefully down the stairs, nearly dancing on her bare feet. “Sounds like a battle of wits.  Better sharpen that dull weapon of yours, Tim.  And go see Jensen’s pretty, love-struck whore.  He’s probably going out of his mind with fear.”

 


	3. The Truth Hurts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hey, how's that RBB coming?"  
> "Shaddup."
> 
>  
> 
> Sad chapter is sad.

Jared forced himself to get up, to brush his teeth, to shave and to shower.  Basic amenities that still felt like luxuries after weeks of imprisonment.  Lying in bed made him feel useless and vulnerable.

When Jared swung open the bathroom door, steam billowing out and a towel—always a damned towel—around his waist, a strange man was standing in the bedroom.  He had an almost ridiculously luxurious mane of black and iron hair and a full, neatly groomed beard.  Jared was somehow expecting the man to be brandishing a rapier or an elaborately plumed hat, but instead he wore a neat dark suit on his spare frame.

“Hello?” Jared said cautiously.

“Hello, kid,” the man said and Jared jerked with recognition at the voice, taking in the blue eyes under the man’s heavy brows. Sir.

“Hi,” Jared croaked.  He looked down at his feet.  He suddenly wasn’t sure what to do with his body. Kneel?  Bow?

“How are you doing?” Sir asked and with a few short strides he was standing close to Jared.  He lifted one hand and pressed his fingertips to Jared’s jaw, and Jared felt the touch as if a hand had been clamped on the back of his neck.  He felt his breathing speed up.

Then a hand was on the back of his neck for real and through the buzzing in his head Jared heard Sir say, “Kneel.”

Sinking to his knees, Jared felt himself calm.  He put his hands on his thighs and bowed his head.  Only Sir’s dark shoes were in his field of vision and he felt a long-fingered hand stroke through the wet strands of his hair.

“Better?”

Jared nodded.

“I’m sure Jensen taught you better than that.”

Jared flinched at the name. “Yes, Sir.”

“You hungry?”

“Not really, Sir.”

“I heard you had a visitor this morning. Alaina is petitioning to have you come down to breakfast.  Would you like that?”

“Does it matter, Sir?” Jared muttered.

“You’re worried about what’s going to happen.  You can worry in here or out with the rest of us.  I know you don’t like being left alone.”

The hand in Jared’s hair felt comforting.  The words did not.  Did it really matter what Jared wanted?  What he wanted was his freedom.  He wasn’t going to get it.

“Speaking of Alaina,” Sir continued. “Here’s a fair warning: don’t trust her.  She has her own best interests at heart and her favorite thing to do is play people off one another.”

 _Nobody has my best interests at heart_ , Jared thought.  But he swallowed the words down.

“Why am I on my knees?” Jared muttered.

“Several reasons,” Sir answered, voice still unperturbed. “It helps you feel better.  More calm.  Give you purpose.  In the same way that being touched helps.”

“Yes, but that’s not why.  Tell me the truth.”

“Jared—“

“No,” Jared said and he stood.  I hurt when Sir’s hand fell away and it was hard to meet those penetrating eyes, but Jared held his ground.

“You’re still in training,” Sir said reluctantly.

“But what’s the point if Jensen’s dad is just going to hand me over?” Jared asked.

“I’m doing everything I can to prevent that.”

“But if he orders you to do it, you will, right?  You’ll hand me over to them.”

“Yes.”

“Tim,” Jared said, meeting those piercing eyes.  

“That’s not what you call me.”

“’Sir’ is a promise you’re unwilling to keep,” Jared said fiercely. “You’re going to do what’s best for you.  You have your loyalties.  I understand.  I’m disappointed, but I understand.  Don’t pretend you’re looking out for me.”

“Either way it’s better if we keep things the way they are,” Tim said calmly. “For your sake.”

“Why?  They’re going to kill me.”

“That’s the worst case scenario,” Tim answered. “How much do you know about the Pellegrino family?”

“I’ve seen their evil sex dungeon,” Jared quipped. “But then, all of you seem to have evil sex dungeons.  At least this one has running water.”

“If you’re expecting an apology for your stay in my basement, don’t hold your breath,” Tim said sternly. “Answer my question.”

“What do I know? Nothing.” Full of nervous energy, Jared paced the room.

“Prostitution,” Tim supplied. “They hold a monopoly on most of the sex work in this region.  Strip clubs, escorts.  Some human trafficking, although most of their stables are full of willing participants.  They’re also known for supplying very specific merchandise to a select clientele.  Fantasies.”

Jared felt a buzzing in his ears.  He could feel leather at his wrists, ankles.  Smooth, chilled wood under his stomach and chest.  Master’s voice, low and warm, pitched for his ears only. There was a hand on his shoulder, pressing down, and Jared sank to his knees without a thought.  Dark shoes stepped up before him and he pressed his sweaty forehead to the cool leather.

“Breathe, kid.”

Jared breathed around the panic.

When Jared felt well enough to push back up onto his knees, he dazedly watched the shoes walk away and then come back.  A cup of water was pressed into Jared’s hand and he sipped gratefully.

“You don’t think they’ll kill me,” Jared said faintly.

“I’m hoping we won’t turn you over to them,” Tim said, taking the cup back from Jared's numb fingers. “But they know what Mark wanted you for.  You’re attractive, compliant.  You fill a certain…niche market.  Things might go better for you if you present yourself as well-trained.  A desirable asset.”

Jared could have laughed.  Instead of being dead he could hope for a return to that first terrible night?  Someone new with a whip in hand, standing in for Jensen?  Was that really the better option?

“You’re not making me feel any better.”

“I’d like us to keep negotiating.  To get Jensen back without having to trade you for him.  Or if we have to trade, then maybe re-negotiating once Jensen’s here.  I know how obsessed he is with you.  He’ll get you back.”

And then take Jared home to his own basement, this he had already promised Jared. Cage.  Cuffs. Gas mask.  Jared learning to love his captivity, because it would be all that he had.

“Still not making me feel any better.”

“I know, kid.”

“Dead or slave or slave, then?  Awesome.  If it’s all the same to you, Tim, I’ll skip breakfast.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim replied. The hand was back in Jared’s hair, but he ducked his head and shook it off.

“Not sorry enough,” Jared whispered bitterly. “Can I be alone?”

Jared watched Tim’s shoes as he walked away.  The lock on the door buzzed.  Jared let himself topple forward and pressed his cheek to the soft pile of carpet.  For a long time he lay still, not moving, not looking at anything in particular.  His mind was frighteningly blank.

He thought he might cry but he didn’t.  He didn’t cry.  He didn’t do anything at all.

 


	4. Playing Dress Up

After a long period of nothingness, Jared slowly came back to himself.  He had been lying on the floor—perhaps for hours, he wasn’t sure—without the will to get up.  It wasn’t terribly comfortable.  The carpet began to itch his cheek after a while and his hip went numb from constant contact with the hard floor.  His stomach growled.  But he’d sent Tim away and there didn’t seem much purpose in doing anything else.  The mental numbness was a nice counterpoint to the physical discomfort.  Jared had been scared enough to throw up, but now he felt nothing.

Blinking, Jared realized at some point the blurred expanse of the cream carpet had become a haze of red and peach.  He blinked again and Alaina’s face swam into view.  She lay on the floor beside him, parallel to his own body and just close enough that Jared flinched a bit when he realized he wasn’t alone in the room.

“Uh.”

“Yeah, hi,” Alaina said, smiling. “Was waiting to see how long you’d take to notice me.  My shoulder was starting to ache.”  She swung up into a sitting position, tugging down her shirt, and Jared followed her movements with an apathetic gaze.

“Just leave me alone,” Jared muttered.

“Leave you here sinking into the carpet like some sad, suicidal horse?” Alaina grinned. “Artax! Don’t give in to the sadness!”

“I can’t believe you would bring up that movie,” Jared said, frowning. “That scene traumatized every kid who ever saw it.”

“Eh, I thought it was funny,” Alaina replied. “And the kid gets a badass talking dragon, which is so much better than a horse.  Come on, it’s nearly lunchtime.  Get up!”

“Just leave me here to die and take the dragon,” Jared mumbled, pressing his face into the carpet.

“You’re kind of funny, I like it,” Alaina said.  She reached out and gently rubbed Jared’s bare back.  He swallowed down a groan at how good it felt. “Look, I’m trying to help.  Step one is getting Dad to see you as an actual person worth saving.  We can’t do that if he doesn’t meet you.  Come on.”

“Tim says you have ulterior motives.”

“Duh,” Alaina said bluntly. “But what are your options, really?”

“Just lay here forever.”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“No,” Jared said at the same time his stomach gave a loud, traitorous gurgle.

“Everything looks better when you’re eating a cheeseburger,” Alaina said. “Although I think we’re having omelets today.  Omelets, for lunch. Weird. You’d think I’d be able to order what I like in my own home.”

“No.”

“Fussy baby,” Alaina scolded lightly. Then she said seriously, “I’m assuming you’ve reached the ‘numb’ stage of your current trauma.  Probably explains why you were disassociating on the floor.” She shrugged. “I took a psych course or two. And I’ve been there.  Not the happiest childhood, I’ll tell you.”

“I don’t want to feel anything,” Jared hissed fiercely.  He blinked at the anger in his own tone.

“Too late,” Alaina said. “Look, I get it.  Your options suck.  There’s nothing you can do about it.  Tell you what, you come out and have lunch and show Jeff how cute and charming you are and I’ll give you some valium.”

“Valium?”

“Knew that might perk you up.  The Pellegrinos usually have the girls and boys in their stable medicated, you’re probably already experiencing withdrawals.  What were they giving you?”

“N-nothing,” Jared replied, shocked.  He looked up at Alaina, who somehow managed to appear aloofly sympathetic and jaded as she gazed down at him.  What did she think he was?

Suddenly, it all clicked together in Jared’s mind.  Jensen’s paid fantasy.  The Pellegrino’s prostitution racket.  Alaina thought she was looking at some Pretty Woman scenario.  Jared, the naïve prostitute who had ensnared her brother.  She thought he was some drug addicted pro.

She was close enough, Jared supposed.  No, he hadn’t been working for Mark, but he had a crash course in being Jensen’s unwilling submissive and a regimen of Ativan under his belt.  A trickle of unease ran down Jared’s spine.  How addictive was that stuff?

“Nothing?’ Alaina said skeptically.

“Ativan,” Jared admitted.  Maybe she knew how bad it was.

“Hm,” Alaina said noncommittally.

“Do you have any?”

“Probably something similar,” Alaina murmured, tapping a finger to her lip. “So, do we have a deal?  You getting up?  A little small talk, a little food and then I get you high and put you to bed?”

“One time,” Jared said, giving up. He pulled himself up, his back twinging a bit. “If it’s as horrible as I think it’s going to be I’d just as soon stay in the room.”

“It’s going to be fine,” Alaina said brightly. “Let’s get you some clothes!”

She keyed open the door and Jared followed her out into the hallway, clutching his towel, feeling a bit stunned.

“Aren’t you afraid I’m going to, I don’t know, knock you out and make a break for it?”

“Is that what you want to do?” Alaina asked calmly.  She stopped walking and leaned against the wall, hands behind her back. “Well, here’s your chance.  Hit me.”

Jared stared at her, blinking rapidly.

“Pussycat,” Alaina said.  She petted his shoulder. “I have a black belt in judo by the way.  But I don’t think you’re the violent type.”

 They went up another staircase and down another hallway before Alaina pushed open the door to what looked like an obscenely huge master suite.

The room was feminine in an unfussy way, clean lines of pale green and subtle floral patterns.  Everything was neat as a pin except for the king-size bed, which was overflowing with clothes.

“What’s all this?”

“Options,” Alaina replied, folding her arms across her chest. “Wasn’t sure how you wanted to play it.”

“Play what?” Jared asked, confused.  Most of the clothes on the bed didn’t look like anything he would ever wear.  Of course, he’d spent most of his time in recent memory in a towel, what did he know?

Alaina smoothed her hand down a pair of cut off jean shorts and a red cropped tank top. “We can go for something a little bit bratty, flirty,” she lifted a leather harness and shook it until the gleaming metal rings on it jingled, “or go with obvious, kind of hard-core,” she moved on to the prep-school tie and knee socks lying on top of a thin button down dress shirt, “this actually, might be too cliché, but if we went with a plaid skirt—“

“Where did you get all this stuff?!”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“All these crazy…hooker costumes?!”

“Yes, what’s your point?”

“You want me to dress up like it’s slutty Halloween to impress your dad?”

“Just wanted you to be comfortable,” Alaina said, sounding wounded, and Jared opened his mouth to perversely apologize when he saw the gleam in her eyes.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m so fucking with you.  But to be honest, I did kind of want to see if you’d go for it.”

“Even this one?” Jared asked, lifting up the rose-pink corset from where it was nestled in next to a pair of satin heels and some filmy stockings.

Alaina colored ever so lightly.  She took the corset from Jared and held it up to his frame. “This one might be my own, personal indulgence.”

“Got a thing for guys in skirts, huh?”

“Mm-hm,” Alaina agreed, still pressing the corset against Jared’s chest. “And pink is just your color.”

“Hard pass,” Jared said, coughing a bit.

“Pity.  Okay, try these, then.”  Alaina reached into the pile and pulled out a faded t-shirt and a pair of track pants.

“That’s more like it.”

“They were Jensen’s,” Alaina said and Jared stiffened as he took the shirt and pants from her. “He didn’t leave much behind when he moved out.  They might be a bit snug.”

Jared drew on the shirt.  It was very snug.  He was going to be flashing his stomach with the slightest movement of his arms, which were giving the seams of the shirt a workout.  But the fabric was soft and stretchy from use.  It was comfortable enough.

There was no scent to the shirt save the generic sweetness of laundry detergent.  No woodsy cologne and warm Jensen smell. Jared’s heart gave a little pang at the loss.

Alaina was watching him avidly.  Jared didn’t hold out much hope that he’d be able to convince her to turn her back or leave the room so he could change.  He was thinking of the best way to work the track pants up under his towel when she rose and held out her hand.  There was something folded up in it.

“Please,” she said.  Jared reached out and took the item.

Pink panties, trimmed with white lace and pink ribbon.

“Seriously?”

“No one’s going to know,” Alaina said pleadingly. “Pretty please? I don’t have any boxer shorts.”

“I could just go without.”

“You could,” Alaina said softly and there was something in her voice, something hint of steel that had Jared dropping his eyes. “But you’ll do this for me, won’t you?”

“Turn around,” Jared stammered.

“I don’t get to see,” she pouted.

“Not if you want me to wear them,” Jared said and Alaina’s lips curved up sweetly as she made a show about spinning around and presenting Jared with her back.

What was he doing?  What the hell.  Jared dropped the towel and jerked on the underwear, face flaming. They fit well, accommodating all of him in the front, as if they’d been made for a man.  He tried not to think about it as he jerked the track pants up his hips.  They were a bit short in the ankle.

“Is your modesty intact?” Alaina called over her shoulder.

“You can turn around,” Jared told her.

She spun around slowly, eyes sparkling. “Thank you, Jared.”

“You’re welcome,” he muttered, feeling confused, embarrassed.

“You’re surprisingly shy. I thought you might try to seduce me.”

Right.  Jared remembered that she thought he was an experienced prostitute.  For an amused moment he thought of playing along, perhaps even saying something about how reticence was part of his charm.  But it all came crashing back to him, everything that might happen—that probably would happen soon.  Soon, it wouldn’t be a misunderstanding.  If he wasn’t in Jensen’s cage he might be standing in front of a client, being dressed for her or his pleasure.

Throat working convulsively, Jared stared down at his toes.

“Oh fuck,” she murmured and then she was wrapping her arms around his waist and Jared bent his head down to bury it in her hair, taking comfort where he could get it.  His whole body shook slightly.

“Hush now. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“It’s not,” Jared said, shivering.

“Fine.  There, there, it’s _not_ okay.  It’s _not_ going to be okay.”

Jared let out a choked laugh.

Alaina let him go sooner than Jared wanted, but he watched her step back.  She looked him over from head to toe and nodded, as if satisfied with some unnamed requirement.

“Why are you helping me?”

“Ulterior motives, remember.  Besides, who says I’m helping?  Maybe I’m sabotaging you.”

“Is it too late to go back to my room?”

“Let’s go eat,” she said. “I’ll introduce you to Misha.”

She reached out a hand and Jared took it.  As she led him out the door he thought, who the hell is Misha?


	5. The Misha Collins Experience

Alaina led Jared down into a massive kitchen.   It was bigger than Jared’s apartment—the one he had before it had burned down—all gleaming stainless steel and white glossy cabinets. Justin Bieber was crooning from the TV screen built in next to a bank of cabinets and a dark-haired man was beating something in a bowl with a whisk, his hips swiveling to the beat.

_“I’ll take every single piece of the blame, if you want me to. But you know that there is no innocent one in this game for two…”_

 “Misha!”

The man tipped his head back to regard them both for a moment, regarding them with annoyed blue eyes, then turned back to the counter, making a jerky figure-eight with his hips.

“This is my sanctuary,” he called over the music.

“This is my kitchen,” Alaina said and used the remote to snap the television off.

The man sighed and spun around, boosting himself up on the countertop. “Technically, this is Daddy’s kitchen, sweetheart.  What’s up?”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.  I want you to meet someone. This is Jared.”

Misha hopped off the counter and offered his hand to Jared. “Misha Collins.  House elf.  Nice to meet you.”

A bit nonplussed, Jared shook the offered hand.  Misha shook it gently and stepped back, regarding Jared with a shrewd gaze.

“Not used to being treated like a person, I take it.  You must be a house elf, too.  Cool, I’ll tell you all about our secret plans for revolution.”

“The thing about house elves,” Alaina drawled, “Is that they _like_ being slaves. Jared, Misha is sort of a jack-of-all-trades around here.  Also, he does most of the cooking.”

“I am a chef!”

“What is this stuff?” Alaina said, coming over to sniff the mixing bowl. “Looks like Elmer’s glue.”

“Oh fuck right off, that is crème fraiche!”

“Where’s my cheeseburger?  What’s with the omelets at noon?”

“I made quiche, you witch!  Quiche! I didn’t go to culinary school to be unappreciated—“

“And this is how I know you’re not a house elf!  Even that shitty elf at the Blacks would have at least tried to please me.  Misha, you should be shot.”

“There’s at least five guys out around the perimeter with guns, go take your pick!”

“Maybe just in the leg…”

Alaina trailed off and Jared became aware of both her and Misha staring at him with narrowed eyes.  He realized he had started to crouch down, almost as if he could burrow into a cabinet, and he forced himself to stand back upright.  Sweat was trickling down his back and the air seemed overly hot.

“You okay?” Misha asked.

“Yeah,” Jared said, wiping his face.

“I think we scared the shit out of you,” Misha said gently. “Don’t worry, Alaina would never really shoot me.  This is just loving banter between a queen and her loyal subject.”

“It’s fine.”

“Yeah?” Misha said, as if he wasn’t quite convinced.

“Yeah.  So, you work here?”

“Oh boy,” Misha said, “Have I got a story for you.”

Alaina interrupted, “It all started when—“

“No!” Misha shouted and Jared flinched back a bit again.  Misha’s blue eyes flicked his way and then he said, quieter. “Look, this is my tale to tell and since I get to tell it like once a year I would thank you very much to go fuck off and let me have my moment.  Anyway, I think Tim wanted to talk to you about something.  Probably he-who-shall-not-be-named.”

“Jensen.  You can say the name,” Alaina said.

“Last time I did you threw a Le Creuset terrine _at my head_!”

“It’s _how_ you said it, Misha.  Maybe you should work on your tone.”

“I’ll report you to the union...oh wait, I forgot, I have no recourse for work related grievances.”

Alaina rolled her eyes. “Misha, this is Jared.  He’s Jensen’s…boyfriend.  I was kind of hoping you could make him feel a bit more at ease here.”

“Boyfriend, huh?”

“’Chef’, huh?”

“I went to the Cordon Bleu!”

“I know you were eavesdropping last night, you little worm!  You know everything about it!”

“Okay, fine.  You can go slink away to the Slytherin common room and Jared and I will sit in here and stress-eat and bond over…our mutual horrible lives.”

“Excellent, see you at lunch,” Alaina said and walked out of the kitchen whistling, leaving Jared alone with Misha.

Misha smiled slightly and walked over to the large butcher block topped table.  He pulled out a chair and gestured to Jared. “Wanna sit down?”

Feeling a bit shaky, Jared collapsed into the chair.  He then blinked as Misha slid a plate of cookies in front of him, light brown and crisp, with granules of sugar sprinkled over the top.

“Seriously?”

“I wasn’t kidding about the stress eating,” Misha said, pouring two glasses of milk.  He slid one over to Jared and then sat down, taking a cookie and biting into it. “Go ahead, help yourself.  As many as you want.”

Jared took a cookie.  They were sweet and spicy and he finished the first one in nearly two bites.  Misha grinned and gestured to the plate and Jared took another one eagerly.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Jared ate quietly.  He could feel Misha’s eyes on him, watching curiously, but he kept his gaze averted.  He didn’t really feel like making awkward small talk.

“I’m sorry,” Misha said suddenly.

Jared sighed.  Nice sentiment, but it didn’t really mean anything. “Are you here against your will, too?”

“Kinda.”

“What do you mean, kinda?”

“What I mean,” Misha said, “is my choice was ‘employment with Jeff Morgan’ or ‘certain death.’  I chose life, obviously.”

“Jeff is Jensen’s dad?”

“Yeah.  But don’t call him Jeff.  I mean, not like he’s going to do the whole, ‘call me by my first name, son’ spiel because nothing about your situation is normal.  But, you know.  Call him ‘Mr. Morgan.’”

Jared pushed the milk away, focusing instead on a fourth cookie.  The idea of meeting Jensen’s dad and having to look him in the eye was suddenly terrifying.  Did he even know what Jensen had been up to? What did he know about Jared?

“It’s probably going to be fine,” Misha said weakly.

“You said you had a story,” Jared said, searching for a distraction from the panic building inside him.

“Yeah!” Misha brightened.  He stood up and began resuming his lunchtime prep at the counter.

“Do you need help?”

“Ugh. No!  Stay out of it,” Misha said playfully. “I hate it when people try to ‘help.’  I am classically trained, you know.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.  Okay, the story.  Our story begins when I was a fresh naïve soul, just out of culinary school and looking for a job.  I had decided that I wanted to be some rich bastard’s personal chef and make blueberry muffins on a yacht sailing around the world or whatever.  The point was I didn’t want to start off in the kitchen of some dramatic, narcissistic celebrity chef, being shouted at for burning the risotto or some shit.  I wanted my own gig.”

“So then what?”

“So then what is I answered an ad for a personal chef and it all went to hell.”

“Here?”

“No, not here.  There was this rich dude—Russian, eccentric, dripping in money—and so I show up at his giant, ridiculously obscene mansion to audition for the gig.  His old chef was retiring, he wants someone new, I know I got this. They show me into the kitchen and tell me to make him dinner. I’m totally drenched in flop sweat and working to make the greatest roasted chicken this man will ever taste when all of a sudden I hear this huge commotion at the front and back of the house.  Turns out rich Russian dude is a very bad man who’s done very bad things and Morgan’s sent his men in to punch his ticket.”

“Hell.” Jared pushed up on his elbows, riveted by the story.

“Exactly.” Misha gestured with a knife, making little stabbing motions. “Tim’s at the front of the house, Jensen at the back—I have no idea who they are at the time, I just hear yelling and this ‘puff-puff’ sound which I guess was the silencers—and they’re working their way through towards me.”

“What did you do?”

“Jensen burst in, put two in the old chef’s chest and I just hit the ground, pleading, crying, pissing myself in fear.  Begging him not to kill me.  It was all very stoic and manly, believe me.  He was reloading the clip while I was babbling in a pool of urine and next thing I know he’s ordering me to my feet instead of putting one in my brain.”

“And he just took you home?”  Is this a habit of Jensen’s?  Collecting people like they’re stray cats?  There’s this ridiculous pulse of jealousy in Jared’s chest and he rubs his sternum, trying to dislodge the feeling.  There’s no indication that Jensen and Misha have ever been together, at least not from the way Misha talks about him.

Being in love with a sadistic, kidnapping asshole is constantly inconvenient.

“This is where it gets even weirder.”

“Okay.” Jared doesn’t see how that is possible.

“So, they can’t find the rich guy. Poof, he vanished! Only his staff still in the house.  And he had this really weird reputation for loyalty apparently. Everyone who worked for him was like some brainwashed zombie guard dog.  So basically all the people in the house—from the driver to the bodyguards to the dog walker—threw themselves at the guns.  Total suicide charge.  Didn’t even try to get away.  Even the old chef, who was 68, bless her heart, charged at Jensen with a knife.  I was the only person who didn’t try to take Tim and Jensen down.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Misha yelped dramatically. “Maybe after that guy hired me there would have been some ceremony where we wore goat leggings and drank virgin’s blood and I swore my everlasting loyalty.  I don’t know!  I just got there that night.”

They couldn’t just let you go?”

“I did ask nicely,” Misha said. “Jeff offered me the job instead and I didn’t want to push my luck. I think they also suspect that the mobster guy who vanished is going to come back for me someday.  And when he does they’ll finally get him. So I get an armed escort to the farmer’s market on Sundays.  Yay, me.”

“Come back to save you?”

“No, come back to kill me,” Misha retorted. “Only employee left alive, remember?  Apparently that’s his signature.”  Misha slid back into his chair theatrically and mimed mopping at his brow.

“You’re…not freaked out?”

“I’ve had time to freak out.  Terror grinds you down, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Anyway,” Misha clapped his hands together. “Thanks!  That’s probably the best story I have, other than the first meal I cooked for Jeff which is another story and quite humiliating. I don’t get to tell it often.  Everyone is has already heard it. Good job with the cookies, by the way.”

Jared looked down.  The plate was empty.  He blushed. “Sorry.”

“You should be. No, I like it when people enjoy my cooking.” Misha reached out and clapped a hand on Jared’s shoulder. “Look, you probably don’t cope with shit like I do. And you don’t know me very well.  But if you want to talk, I’m here.  I know it won’t help, but I’m a good listener.”

Jared looked away before Misha could see how that affected him. “Thanks, Misha.”

“No problem.”

“So, do you want to talk about it, or do you just want a distraction?  More embarrassing stories about my life?”

“Yes, that one.”

“Okay,” Misha said and his eyes twinkled. “Here’s a bit of an embarrassing one for both of us.  I bet you five bucks you’re wearing panties right now.”

“What?!” Jared blushed a fiery red.  He reached around to tug at the waistband of his borrowed pants.

“I win!  Too bad neither of us has any money. I didn’t see anything, cowboy.  I know this because I know Alaina.  Also, because I wore a lacy thong for the first two weeks I was here.”

“Seriously?”

“A lot of funny things can happen when you’re afraid that saying ‘no’ can lead to your death,” Misha answered playfully and the grin that had been threatening to break out on Jared’s face was stymied by the meaning of the words beneath the snark. Misha noticed. “Lighten up, Jared. Alaina spent the first month trying to embarrass me in a bunch of different ways.  Then I grew a backbone and started shouting back at her and everything was fine.  What did I have to lose, anyway?”

There was a message, Jared realized, under the stories.  He felt a surge of gratitude, directed at Misha.  It was nice to talk to someone who seemed to understand.  It wasn’t exactly the same, what they were both facing, but it was close enough.

“Anyway,” Misha continued. “Don’t let them sell you on the idea that Alaina’s some super villain.  She’s actually pretty nice.”

“Misha?”

“Yeah?”

“Are…are you still wearing one? A thong?”

Misha snorted and grinned. “That’s the spirit!  Don’t let the bastards grind you down.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Fine.  Let me weave you a tale, then.”

For the next thirty minutes Misha talked and cooked and Jared found himself chuckling quietly at times.  It was a good distraction.  Some of the anxiety knotting in his gut seemed to release the longer he sat and listened, and he was feeling somehow almost relaxed and mellow by the time Alaina came back to collect him from the kitchen.

“Come one, Jared,” she said and he smiled and stood as she put a hand on his arm.  Her touch  sent a tingle up his spine and he found himself tempted to reach out a spiral one of her auburn curls around his finger.  She looked up at him and smiled and this strange, erotic tension—completely absent before—sparked between them.  Normally, Jared thought, he might have blushed or looked away, but he found himself just staring back, smiling.

Misha coughed.

“Right through those doors,” Alaina said, giving Jared a gentle push. “I want to talk with Misha for a moment.”

Jared nodded slowly and he ambled away, heading toward what was presumably the dining room, shifting his shoulders just for the pleasurable feeling of cotton rubbing across his skin.  Everything seemed okay now.  Just a bit more manageable.  He could handle it.

Alaina waited until Jared had pushed through the doors.  Then she turned to Misha.

“He’s got the cutest dimples,” Misha said.

“Did he eat it?”

“Um, yeah.  All of them, actually.”

“Misha!”

“I wasn’t paying attention!  Anyway, don’t yell at me.  First chance in a long time at a new friend and after this he isn’t ever going to trust me again.”

“I don’t care about your budding bromance.”

“He isn’t going to trust you either.”

“Trust wasn’t what I was going for,” Alaina said softly. “I’d better get out there to manage this.  Get your ass in gear and start serving lunch.”


	6. You Magnificent Bastard

Jared walked into the dining room.  The air felt warm, almost thick like syrup, and he felt heavy in a comfortable way as he drifted into the space. Like swimming through warm water, he thought muzzily, like he was Ariel under the sea, under the sea, and he chuckled softly as the image came and went in his mind, set to music. There was a heavy dark wood table--big enough to seat twelve--with large upholstered chairs to match and Jared wondered idly where he should sit. There were place settings for four. He walked in a circle around the table, touching the back of each chair as he went.  The fabric looked rich and soft but it was disappointingly crisp beneath his fingers. Which seat, which seat? He imagined a game of duck-duck-goose, played at an adult level, Tim and Alaina chasing each other around the room, and smothered a snorting giggle behind his fist.

"Jared?"

Jared turned. Sir--Tim--was standing in the doorway, regarding Jared rather warily, looking as dashing as one of the Three Musketeers. Probably the slutty one.

"Hi."

It seemed the most natural thing in the world for Jared to step forward and wrap his arms around the older man. Jared buried his face in Tim's neck, the dark curls of Tim’s hair tickling his cheek and sighed. Hugging felt good. After a pause, Tim's arms came up to wrap around him and Jared sighed again.  Everything was soft and warm and good.

"What."

"What?" Jared replied, brushing his chin against the smooth nap of Tim's lapel, over and over again.

“You’re rubbing up against me like a cat.”

“Meow,” Jared said and giggled.

"Are you...are you high?"

Jared thought about it. "Yes, I am. I am high. Quite high actually. Dammit."

There was a mild feeling of sadness, betrayal at the realization. Obviously, Jared's new BFF Misha was to blame.  But Jared found he couldn't get himself too worked up about the whole thing.  He was feeling too damn good.

"Jared--"

"It's kinda like, stupid, you know, that I didn't catch on quicker. He was being nice to me. Who the hell is ever nice to me?"

And Misha had warned him, kind of, with those references to Harry Potter.  Misha was basically Dobby in this scenario, and Alaina was the death-eater pulling his strings.  Alaina wanted him stoned because…it was suddenly all too difficult to parse together and Jared let that particular train of thought slip from his mind.

"He shouldn't have done that," Tim said.

Jared pulled away to pin Tim with a skeptical gaze. "Why? Because you wanted a turn instead? Cookies or a bowl of mashed potatoes? Frankly, I like the results of Misha's drugs better than yours."

"We should get you back to your room."

"Fuck off, Tim. I was promised lunch."

"Jared!"

"What, are you still keeping count for him in absentia? Did he leave you a flogger? I don't care." Jared began walking around the table, absently ticking off each chair with a tap of his hand. "I. Don't. Care."

Alaina walked into the room from the kitchen and Tim stormed over to her in a few furious, short steps.

"What did you do?" He hissed.

"Believe it or not this was not the plan," Alaina returned, tapping her finger against her mouth. Ignoring the other occupants of the room, Jared bent down to examine the fabric on the chairs in greater detail.

“No?”

 "Misha screwed up. ‘If you want something done right, do it yourself' and so on and so forth."

"I don't know what you're playing at--"

"Hush," Alaina gripped Tim's arm and pasted a placid smile on her face.

Jeff had entered the room.

He looked distracted, tired, hair mussed and black-framed glasses still perched on his nose, eyes still locked on the phone in his hand.  His tie was rumpled and his sleeves rolled up.

"How are you?" Alaina asked solicitously, gliding to Jeff's side.

"Fine. I’m fine. Tim, did you arrange a meeting?"

"Tonight. I'll head out in a few hours," Tim's said, but his eyes were still on Jared. “We’ve arranged a neutral meeting point.  We’ll set the foundation for negotiations.”

"I don't know why you're worried," Alaina said lightly. "It's Jensen. He could kill with a paperclip. I'm half surprised he hasn't already murdered his way out of the situation."

"Agreed,” Jeff said. “And he hasn't. Which is why I'm worried.  You'll understand when you have children of your own one day."

Alaina wrinkled her nose. "Ew. Pass."

Jeff smiled slightly. Then he frowned as he looked across the room. "What is he doing here?"

Jared stopped examining the stitching on the chairs and offered Jeff an airy wave. "Hi."

Jeff stepped towards him aggressively, jaw clenched. He looked pissed, Jared thought, or maybe just posturing, pretending to be pissed.  Some bizarre throwback gorilla tactics, just one step shy from grunting and chest-pounding. Either way it suddenly wasn't terribly interesting to Jared.  He thought about what Misha had said, about standing on the very edge of what these people could throw at him, do to him, and the lack of options he was facing.

There was no fear.  That alone was a relief.  How many days of ratcheted up tension?  Anxious waiting?  How long had Jared been pacing in the cage of his own mind?  He was suddenly free of it, floating along in the happy current of life. He had toppled over the edge and was floating, instead of falling.

So he gave Jeff a bright smile and threw his arms around Jensen's father in a gentle, all-encompassing hug.

"What the hell."

“It’s okay,” Jared murmured, tucking his face into Jeff’s neck.  The man smelled good.  Not like Jensen, but a sharper, more citrus scent overlying a warmer animal smell.  Some sort of soap or aftershave fading away, as issues more pressing than hygiene came to the forefront. “It’s all going to be okay.”

Jeff’s arms didn’t rise to encircle Jared, but he didn’t push him away either, so after a moment Jared gave a regretful sigh and stepped away.  Jeff was staring at him, his expression almost angry and yet not and Jared studied the older man’s face.  Jensen’s dad was hot.  He had this gruff yet dapper thing going on.

“You are ridiculously good looking,” Jared informed him seriously. “And worried.  It’s okay to be worried.  I’m worried, too.  But he’s gonna be okay.  He has to be.”

Jeff clenched his jaw. “Put him back in his room.”

“Yes, sir,” Tim said. He took a step towards Jared, who sidled playfully away.

“Who’s idea was it to bring him down here anyway?”

“Mine,” Alaina said smoothly. “He’s the last person who spent any amount of time with Jensen.  I thought you might want to question him. Or at the least, hear what your son’s been up recently.”

Jeff gave her a look, but Alaina shrugged, face innocent.

Jared spread his arms wide. “I was promised quiche.”

“Fine,” Jeff muttered. “Everyone sit down so we can eat. And turn off your phones. No distractions at the table.”

“He’s such a dad,” Jared whispered to Tim and Tim shushed him.

Jared watched with interest as Jeff settled at the head of the table—tucking his cell phone away—with Alaina taking the seat to his right and Tim the seat to his left.  Jared stood for a minute, shifting from side to side.  It probably didn’t matter which side he picked.  Team Tim or Team Alaina.  Poop-in-a-bowl-dank-basement-pimp-for-Jensen Tim versus panties-fetish-drug-peddler Alaina.  Jared wanted it to be as simple as just picking a seat and eating lunch, but there were layers of meaning, hidden alliances, traps waiting to be sprung.  Or he was already in a trap, too stupid to realize he should be gnawing his foot off.  Jared pictured himself limping away, trailing blood from one raggedy, tooth-marked stump and began to feel overheated and queasy.  He collapsed awkwardly into the seat next to Tim.

“Misha!” Jeff called and Jared watched with interest as Misha hustled into the room with a tray.  He set a small, white bowl full of some sort of green liquid in front of each place.  His eyes darted over to Jared and then skittered away and he began to hustle back into the kitchen.

“What are you doing, Misha?” Jeff said. “Sit down.”

“No, that’s fine—“

“You always eat lunch with us.”

“No, it’s okay—“

“Sit down, Misha,” Alaina said sharply.  Misha hesitated, then took the seat next to her, putting him directly across from Jared, which put him on Team Alaina, which Jared figured was both symbolic and highly appropriate.  Misha fidgeted awkwardly in his chair.

Jared tried to come up with some sort of threatening glare, but he was distracted by the tiny bowl in front of him.  There was a delicate, savory smell, and the color was a bright, spring green.  It was pretty, like a tiny circular slice of green grass.  What the hell was it?  He brought it to his mouth to taste.

“What the hell is this, Misha?” Jeff asked.

“An alkalizing soup with broccoli, kale and lime juice,” Misha said and there was a chorus of groans from around the table. “Served at room temperature so as to be gentle to the digestive system.”

“It looks like puke!”

“You do realize the human body is 98.6 degrees.  How could hot soup be a shock to my digestive system?”

“Meat, Misha, meat.  I’m not a rabbit, I want meat.”

“It’s really good,” Jared interrupted, after draining the bowl.  The cool porcelain felt good against his lips and he mouthed at the lip of the bowl a bit, enjoying the sensation. Every head at the table swiveled in his direction but Jared rolled his eyes. “Have any of you actually even tried it?”

Misha snorted.

“You are all spoiled,” Jared informed them seriously, and reached over to snag Tim’s bowl and drain it as well.  Tim was staring at him and Jared wiped at the green soup mustache on his upper lip before saying coolly, “You’d prefer a box of cold rice and chicken? I know I wouldn’t.”

Tim actually smiled. “Misha’s soup isn’t actually an improvement on that.”

Jared snorted. “Says you.”

“What is he talking about?” Jeff asked.

“Nothing,” Tim said at the same time Jared said, “Tim kept me in his skeevy basement and fed me Satan’s Lunchables.”

“I was babysitting him for Jensen,” Tim said, frowning.

“Jensen had you keep Jared in a basement?’ Alaina asked.

“Yup,” Jared said and he stretched over the table to snag her soup out from in front of her.  He drained it in one gulp.

Misha stood quickly. “I’ll just get the next course then, shall I?” 

As he scooped up the bowls in front of Jared, Jared pointed two fingers at him. “I’m keeping an eye on you.”

“O-okay.”

“I’m happy, so I forgive you.  It was a dick move, but I feel good so I forgive you.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Misha whispered. He gathered up the empty bowls and hustled out of the room.

“Explain about the basement,” Jeff said sternly, watching Misha leave with narrowed eyes. “Because this is the first I’m hearing about this.”

“I thought he was shacked up with Jensen in some love nest,” interrupted Alaina.

“It wasn’t pertinent,” Tim said. “But yes.  He was with me at a safe house for a few weeks.”

“I pooped in a bowl,” Jared informed Alaina.

“Jared—“

“That’s not how you usually treat someone you’ve fallen in love with,” Alaina returned to Tim, forehead crinkling into a frown. “I thought they’d run away together or something.”

Jared snorted. _Not how you treat someone you’ve fallen in love with_.  No, Jared supposed that was probably true.  But his life had gone so far off the rails…how could he even judge what normal affection looked like? Jensen cared about him.  So did Tim.  He was beginning to suspect even Alaina did in her own way. It didn’t seem to change the horrible things they had done to him. Would do to him.  God, what was coming next?  Jared had been so calm, so relaxed.  Now his heart was beginning to pound a bit. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt.

“Love takes many forms,” Jared told Alaina airily, although he felt out of sorts and overheated. “Most of them abusive.”

“Tim, it sounds like Jensen was holding him hostage,” Jeff said. “I thought Jensen developed a crush and made off with one of Pellegrino’s hookers.”

“I’m not a hooker,” Jared announced to the room at large. “I mean, if I am a hooker, I am owed serious back pay.”

“Jared, calm down,” Tim said.  He put his hand at the back of Jared’s neck.  It felt deliciously cool and Jared leaned into it for a moment, before he remembered that Tim was basically a rat fink like everyone else.

“Tell me what happened. Tell me about my son,” Jeff interrupted.  His tone was demanding but his eyes were soft. “I haven’t seen him in over a year.”

Jared shrugged, pulling at the neck of his shirt.  He was sweating. What could he tell Jensen’s dad?  What Jensen liked in bed?  How Jensen had tormented him?  Declarations of love and offerings of French toast, interspersed between kinky role play and savage beatings?

“I was with him a week…or less.  I think less. I don’t really know him that well.  I mean, I know him, I know him really well, but not the way that you mean.  Or maybe I do.  God, it’s hot in here.”

Jared stripped off the t-shirt.  He let his head loll back on the seat.  The fabric felt cool under his sweaty neck.

“That’s Jensen’s shirt,” Jeff said, staring.  Jared let his head flop to the side.  They were all staring, he realized.  Why?  There was something crumpled in his hand.  The shirt.  Oh, he’d taken it off.

Jared folded his arms across his chest. “Stop objectifying me.”

“Is he on something?” Jeff asked sharply. “Dammit, Tim what the hell is going on?”

“Ask Alaina.”

“Alaina?”

“Misha gave him some pot,” Alaina said, shrugging. “He was all stressed out.  Misha just wanted him to relax.”

“I feel sick,” Jared muttered.

“Misha, get out here!”

“No, that’s okay,” Misha called from the kitchen. “I’m cool in here.”

“Misha come here this instant!”

“No, I don’t want to be involved.  I’m staying in the kitchen where it’s safe.  Thanks anyway.”

Jared pitched to the side, falling out of the chair.  The carpet was soft beneath his hands but his heart was pounding, pounding.  He opened his mouth to groan and puked all over the floor.  It was bright green.

“Exorcist time,” Jared gasped between retches.

“Jared, are you okay?” Tim’s hand was cool on Jared’s forehead.  God, his heart was galloping out of his chest.  He groaned and puked again.

“I changed my mind, Tim,” Jared whispered, heart fluttering, breath coming in pants. “I think I liked your drugs better after all.”

“Jared!”

“This isn’t just pot.  Dammit, Alaina, what did he take?”

“I told you!”

“Shut up, you guys, you’re hurting my head,” Jared muttered.  His body was so heavy.  He was going to face-plant in his own sick.  He started to topple forward and felt strong hands catch him, shift him to a patch of clean carpet.  He curled up in a ball around his aching gut, his eyes blurred. His last image was of Jeff leaning over him, dark eyes concerned.

And then Jared tumbled into unconsciousness.


	7. Forgive Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't tag for 'underage' because Jared is an adult dreaming about being an adolescent, but it's a weird-ass sex hallucination/dream so be aware.

Somewhere there’s a bed with sweat-wet sheets and people whispering.  Hands are turning him this way and that, drawing off his sick-sour clothes and wiping his hot face. But Jared sees Chad beckoning and falls forward right into a living room he hasn’t seen in years. He falls into a memory, into the delirious imaginings of his own mind.

_“It’s cheating!” Jared protested._

_Chad looked up patiently. “How is it cheating?”_

_“You’re doing the work.  I’m letting you write my paper for me.”_

_“Ugh,” Chad sighed.  He shifted back on his knees.  They were crouched around Chad’s coffee table with their homework.  Everything looked like it always had but strangely greener, colder, the walls stretching up and away.  Echoes of harsh voices, but the only bruises were deep inside Chad’s eyes._

_“I don’t want to cheat.”_

_Chad scratched an arm, his shirt slipping off one skinny shoulder. “It’s not cheating, dude.  You tell me what you want to say, I write it down. Then you copy it into your own handwriting.  Everything is your idea.  How is that cheating?”_

_“That’s not exactly how you do it.”_

_“Okay, so sometimes I move things around a bit.  Re-organize.  It’s all still your ideas.  Am I cheating when you double check my math answers?”_

_Jared had liked it when Chad helped him with his essays.  He had liked it too much.  There was always a smile on his teacher’s face when the paper got handed back.  Positive comments and smiley faces instead of so much red ink it looked like his assignment was murdered.  It felt so good to get it right._

_And then Jared would to do the essay test in class solo and fuck it up.  All that time talking his answers over with Chad and watching Chad take the mishmash of Jared’s ideas and smooth it out—Chad had always made it look so easy—and Jared never learnt anything.  His work never improved._

_“It’s not the same.  I’m not getting any better at this.”_

_“Fine. Screw it.” Chad stretched. The greenish-purple light around his eyes got brighter, almost toxic. “Got a new can of spray paint yesterday.  Wanna huff?”_

_“Please don’t do that shit, man.  It’s dangerous.”_

_“You know I got brain cells to spare.”_

_“Don’t.”_

_“You can’t save me, dude.  This already happened.”_

_Jared turned earnestly to dream-Chad.  Memory-Chad.  The Chad that had been before. “You just gave up.  You quit on me. You quit on yourself.”_

_Chad shrugged._

_“I wish…I wish I had been able to help you.”_

_Chad slapped down a sheet of paper down in front of them and gnawed on his pen. “Then hurry up and tell your ideas for this stupid essay already.”_

_“I just wish I could do it on my own.”_

_“That’s not what you wish,” Chad said and Jared frowned.  This wasn’t part of his memory at all. “I know what you want.”_

_“Chad?”_

_“All those teachers you want to please, do you know why you want to do that, Jay?”_

_“I want to do a good job—“_

_“You wanna hear them say, ‘Good boy, Jared.’  You want to get on your knees for them.  Especially that Mr. Ackles.”_

_Jared frowned.  That name…_

_“Empty classroom and it’s just the two of you.  He’s so demanding and so hard to please.  You’re used to the looks of disappointment.  Because you can’t do one fucking thing right, can you Jared?”_

_Jared flinched._

_“But now he’s almost smiling, isn’t he?  He hasn’t said the words yet, even though you’re aching to hear them.  Good boy.  You want to be his good boy.  And when he snaps his fingers and points to his shoe you don’t even blink.  You’re down on your knees, tongue out, little wet swipes on that fancy wingtip shoe…”_

_“Chad—“_

_“You’d lick the floor to hear the words, wouldn’t you?  You’d crawl on your belly for just a drop of approval.  And that’s where he wants you.  Belly down, ass up, show him how good you want to really be—“_

“Jared…Jared…” Hands were turning him to the side.  Bright light creeping beneath his eyelids and he twisted away even as strange, cool fingers tried to prize his lids open.

“How long has he been like this?”

Jared shifted away from the hands, panting.  His heart was racing.  It hurt. He let himself wheel away from the light, falling back under.

_“Jared.”_

_Jared looked up.  He was standing in an empty classroom.  It was ninth grade homeroom.  The year Chad had given up, gotten permanently high and tuned it all out, and Jared had struggled to stay afloat on his own._

_“You have something for me?” The handsome blond man with the chiseled face wasn’t sad, jowly Mr. Edwards, Jared’s homeroom teacher._

_“Jensen,” Jared whispered._

_“Excuse me?” Jensen’s tone was icy._

_“Mr. Ackles,” Jared said, feeling his face heat.  He was holding a piece of paper in his hands.  When he looked down, the words blurred and shifted, making random patterns. He didn’t feel young, not in this dream, but he could see his arms were thin and pale, his growth spurt another year away._

_“I said, you have something for me?”_

_“Yes, Mr. Ackles.”  Jared stepped forward.  It took a long time to walk to the desk and he reached out excruciatingly slowly to place the paper in Jensen’s hand.  As he did so, Jensen grasped Jared’s wrist and Jared gasped at the tight grip._

_“Thank you, Jared.  Now I have something for you.  Get on your knees.”  The grip on Jared’s arm tightened._

_Jared knelt, heart pounding.  He flicked a tongue nervously across his lips._

_Jensen smiled. “Let me give you your reward.”  He unzipped his slacks and Jared watched as Jensen’s familiar cock sprung out of the confines of his clothing, already damp at the tip, beautifully formed and rigidly hard. “Open.”_

_Jared opened his mouth obediently and let Jensen feed the cock inside.  Strangely, in his dream there was no taste or scent and Jared felt the loss keenly.  There was just the feeling of his mouth being stretched wide._

_“Good boy,” Jensen crooned and Jared shifted with pleasure, eyes fluttering shut. “Think you can take another one?”_

_Jared’s eyes popped open.  Another Jensen was standing shoulder to shoulder with the first.  The second Jensen’s hard cock was nudging at Jared’s cheek._

_“Let me in.”_

_Jared opened his mouth wider.  He felt the second cock slip in to tease at the entrance of his mouth, both cocks slipping and sliding next to each other, flesh filling his mouth._

_“So good.  You deserve another.  Open, Jared.”_

_Another Jensen.  Another bobbing, wet-tipped cock.  Jared stretched his mouth wider, wider.  The three heads could just barely fit, slipping in and out, each one pressing in and fighting for space.  Jared gagged and drooled, his jaw aching._

“Jared.  Open your mouth.  Come on, sweetie, open.  Just swallow, that’s a boy.”

Jared opened his mouth and smacked his lips at the strange, chalky taste. He winced and tried to pull away from the strange liquid pooling on his tongue.  Hands were holding his jaw, forcing his mouth open.  He tried to roll away again, but the hands held fast. Jared tumbled back under.

_“Jared.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Jared.”_

_Jared blinked.  He was in a bathtub.  Beneath the soothing wet heat he could feel every joint in his body, aching._

_“Feeling any better?”_

_Jensen stood in the doorway.  Sleeves rolled up on his dress shirt, arms nearly glowing golden in the hazy light._

_“Yes,” Jared said, although he hurt.  His arms dangled on the lip of the tub and he could see it as well as feel it: red, raw puffed flesh around each wrist._

_“You took me home,” Jared whispered.  It was Jensen’s home of course, although Jared had never been there, never seen it.  It made sense.  Jared was in danger and Jensen was keeping him safe._

_Jensen walked toward him and knelt beside the tub, light haloing around his head, like an angel in a stained glass painting.  Jensen’s eyes were wide, glittering with unshed tears.  He looked horribly guilty.  He looked unearthly beautiful._

_“I’m sorry,” Jensen whispered and Jared could feel that he meant it. “I’m sorry about everything.  I hope this is okay.  How…how can I make it okay?’_

_“Jensen…”_

_“I can’t stand myself.  What I did to you, how I hurt you.  Please tell me you forgive me.  When I found out what was really going on, I was devastated.”_

_“You hurt me,” Jared whispered, but his chest warmed with pleasure.  God, Jensen was saying everything Jared had needed to hear._

_“I know.  I did, God help me, I did.  Please forgive me.  I don’t think I could live with myself if you didn’t.”_

_“It’s okay,” Jared said softly.  He could feel every injury from that first night.  His throat burned, both from being choked and from all the screaming._

_“Do you need anything?” Jensen asked and Jared shook his head.  It felt heavy.  He let it topple back against the rim of the rub, his knees coming up out of the water as he relaxed into the heat of the bath, eyes closing._

_Fingers were tangling in his hair, brushing strands away from Jared’s face.  He let his eyes open.  Jensen’s face was very close as he tenderly stroked Jared’s face, Jensen’s mouth soft and pink and inviting._

_“Is this okay?”  Jared nodded and let himself be touched.  Fingers trailing along his jaw, his throat.  Drifting down to skim along his shoulder.  There was another hand on his knee, one finger drawing a slow, languid circle, raising the hair all along Jared’s body._

_“Feeling good?”_

_“I…I don’t know.”_

_“I want to wash it away,” Jensen said. “Every bruise, every pain.  I want to start over.  This is how it should have been, isn’t it Jared?  This is what I should have done that night.”_

_“Why did you—“_

_“Do you know what it’s like,” Jensen continues, “to hurt someone like that?  I thought we were playing a game.  I think about what I did and I can barely breathe.  Who does that?  Who does those things?  How could I have hurt anyone so badly?”_

_The words sounded right but something was off.  There was something Jared was forgetting._

_“Jensen…”_

_“That’s not what you call me.”_

_Jared jerked his gaze back toward Jensen’s face.  It was still soft, compassionate.  The eyes full of tenderness and guilt and glittering tears.  But Jensen’s grip on Jared’s knee had become punishing, tight._

_“Jensen?” Jared looked down at his knee.  His flesh was turning white around Jensen’s gripping fingers.  And just beneath the water, he could see lines across his thighs.  Pink and white stripes of pain.  Marks he hadn’t received that night._

_“Should I apologize for those, too?” Jensen murmured.  And then his other arm was across Jared’s throat, hand on his chest, and he was shoving Jared down under the water._

_Splashing and flailing, Jared struggled under the water.  The hands hold him down were immobile, not even shifting as Jared threw his full strength against Jensen’s grip.  His vision was tunneling down._

_“Please!”  Jared gasped.  Although water filled his mouth, the word came out as clearly as if he hadn’t been submerged at all._

_“I regret everything,” Jensen said as Jared thrashed, looking up through the wavy surface of the water at Jensen’s smiling face. “Tell me you forgive me.”_


	8. The Good Doctor Sam

“Adderall,” the leggy blond in Jeff’s bedroom said.  She swiped a weary hand through her blond bangs and yawned.  The scrubs clinging to her lithe frame were rumpled and stale. “I’ve been on call, Jeff.  I haven’t slept in twenty-two hours.”

“Sorry, Sam,” Jeff said because it was only polite.  He’d called her in at worse hours, and for longer, to patch bullet holes and sew knife wounds.  She was always prompt, arriving in a half hour of less, no matter what the day or time, even when they had been fighting most viciously, right before their break-up.

Jeff looked anxiously at the lanky young man stretched out on his sheets, currently wearing only a pair of panties in the sweetest shade of pink.  Jeff had pulled a blanket over Jared several times, but Jared had immediately kicked off the covers.  He looked like a long, cool drink of sin. Jeff had been standing vigil at Jared’s bedside and wasn’t sure if he was watching the kid for signs of overdose or just absentmindedly ogling Jared’s body. “Misha gave him Adderall?”

“Accidently.”

“How do you accidently give someone Adderall?” Jeff asked angrily.

“It’s easier than you think when you crush the pills up into a powder and snort them,” Samantha replied. “You need to have a conversation with your cook and the amount of drugs he’s doing in your kitchen.”

“He could have poisoned us all.”

“On just some wayward powder and nothing else?  At worst you would have spent the day hyper-focused.  Maybe not have even noticed it.  It was the way it interacted with the huge amount of marijuana Jared ingested that caused the problem.”

“But Jared’s going to be okay?”

“I don’t know. Probably.  I got him to drink a bit of charcoal, so that helps. The fact that he vomited up a fair amount of what he took helped, too.  I’d like to do a tox screen, see what else he was given, do some blood tests to check liver function—“

“Wait, what else do you think he took?”

“I don’t know,” Sam answered, and she slipped out of Jeff’s grasp when he tried to grasp her shoulder. “I don’t like Misha.  I never have.”

“He’s very upset.  He’s been confined to his room.”

“Oh really,” Sam said, blonde eyebrows raised. “Because when I came in he was heading out with Matt to the farmer’s market.  Said he needed to ‘shop his stress away’.”

“Shit,” Jeff growled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll talk with him. Are you going to take blood for the tests?”

“Sure.”

“Why does it sound like there’s a catch?”

“I’m not doing this under the table anymore, Jeff,” Sam said. “I’ll do the tests and prescribe medication, provided I can create a patient chart for this young man.”

“Sam—“

“No, Jeff.  I will come whenever you call.  I will treat any illness and injury, no questions asked.  But I’m not sneaking any tests through the lab.  And heaven knows you can get your own drugs.”

“Baby—“

“Don’t ‘baby’ me.  I can’t do it anymore.  Any of it. Besides,” Sam looked over at the young man sprawled in Jeff’s bed, “It looks like you’ve moved on fairly well.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Please.  He’s dressed in a way I well remember you like.  And young.  You like them young. Younger than me.  I just hope he’s not an airhead like that ditz Alona.”

“I have varied tastes, Sam.”

“I know that as well. I’m not coming back.  And you won’t hold me here.”

“You don’t have to work,” Jeff cajoled, although he flushed a bit at Sam’s words.  He had at times—during their worst arguments—been beyond tempted to keep Sam at the house.  He had shoved the impulse away with long practice.  He had never compelled a lover, even when the relationship was sliding to its inevitable end and he felt almost desperate to maintain some connection, to not lose anyone. Sam had sometimes made jokes about a harem and Jeff could only pretend to be offended by the notion.

He took Sam’s hands and pulled her into his arms and she came reluctantly. “You don’t need to put in the long hours, I can take care of you.”

Sam laughed, a short bark of sound. “I like it.  I like my job.  I’m tired and I’m grumpy but I wouldn’t change a thing.”  She patted Jeff on the shoulder. “Poor Jeff, all the people he loves are too self-sufficient to please him.”

“I just want to take care of you…”

“I know.  And none of us will let you.  Not either of your kids and not me and not any of your lovers who came before or after me or fuck, at the same time as me. But that’s not important right now and we’ve already had this argument.  Can I show you something?”

Samantha sat down beside Jared on the bed.  Almost immediately, he rolled into her warmth, head pressed against her hip, one arm coming up to grip fumblingly at her thigh.  He then sighed heavily in his sleep, the rest of his body going limp.

“Poor kid,” Jeff said pityingly. “Just needs a gentle hand.”

“Who is he?” Sam asked, stroking her hand gently through the tousled head nudged against her hip. “He’s been hurt, that’s obvious. And I want to hug him for about a year.”

“Don’t worry about it, Sam.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“It’s my business.”

“Blah, blah. Same old same old.  I know all about your ‘business.’ Look, he needs care.  He’s clearly been through a lot.  Misha drugging him looks like the crap topping on a dog shit cake.”

“I’ll take care of him,” Jeff promised.

“Okay, and normally here’s where I’d caution you to dial it back, Jeff.  You smother people.  Take care of him, but don’t be…so intense about it.”

“You make me sound like a real asshole.”

“You have a kink for pampering people,” Sam said bluntly. “It’s fine.  Diamonds and fancy dinners are all well and good in moderation.  But people like to do things for themselves, Jeff.  You try to make all the decisions and it doesn’t matter how well-meaning you are, that person is going to feel trapped.”

“You think that’s why Jensen left?  Because I was smothering him?  Jesus, when I adopted those kids…”

“You picked the most beaten down kids you could find and built them back up.  You did good, Jeff.  And once they were well-fed and well-clothed they set their own boundaries and made their own lives.  They needed you but they never _needed_ you. But this is not about that.” Samantha’s voice softened. “Can I take him out of here? Take him to the E.R. maybe?”

“No.”

Samantha stood up, gently pushing Jared away. “Fine.  I’m out of here, then.  Call if you need me. Let me know how he does.”

“I will.”

“Make good choices,” she said fiercely and with one last reluctant glance at the bed she strode out of the room.  Once she was gone, Jeff took a good long look at the unconscious kid in his bed. Miles of smooth brown skin and long, muscled limbs.  A tight, curved ass temptingly displayed in frilly panties, just the kind Jeff liked and apparently Jared liked wearing them, too.

Not a prostitute, according to Tim, who’d spilled most of the story.  Just some poor kid in a shitty situation, Jensen’s little obsession.  Someone who’d been through hell.  Jeff thought back to Jared standing in Jensen’s old clothes, clinging obscenely tight to his flesh, and thought about another boy.  Small, younger, wary and vicious.  Jensen beautiful and hurt and angry, a bruised thirteen year old.

Jeff couldn’t kid himself.  If it was between Jared and Jensen, he was picking Jensen.  It might hurt to do it, to send Jared back to the Pellegrinos for more of the same treatment, but Jeff would do it if it came down to it.

Jared shifted his hips and mumbled in his sleep, and Jeff couldn’t help himself.  He reached out and smoothed a hand along the tempting swell of Jared’s ass.  It was halfway between a comforting pat and a sensual caress, his finger dipping under the elastic of the waistband to stroke velvety skin.  Jared moaned quietly.

“Poor baby,” Jeff whispered.  He knew that for however long Jared was in his care, he’d try to do his best by the boy.

Jeff climbed onto the bed and Jared immediately rolled into the older man.  Jeff gathered the boy up, let him pillow his tousled brown head on Jeff’s chest.  Jared sighed and relaxed and Jeff smiled a little at the pleasing glow he always felt in his chest from being needed and appreciated.  He picked up his book and glasses from the bedside but he wasn’t paying any attention to the reading.

He spent most of the time watching Jared sleep.


	9. The Pushover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But is this story truly about Jared/Jensen sexy times?"  
> "Yeah, eventually. But first some other messed up stuff happens."  
> "Is Jared gonna poop in a bowl again?"  
> "Why, are you into that?"

Waking up was hard.  For an unknown amount of time, Jared floated in that halfway place between sleep and waking, where dreams begin to edge their way in--dark and haunting--before drifting away as the body becomes aware of sunlight and cotton sheets.  Up and then back down, sometimes present and sometimes existing in long stretches of nothingness, with only the return to wakefulness signaling that Jared was still alive inside his own body.

He was warm and content for one minute, head pillowed on something hard yet slightly yielding, with a light, citrus scent.  Then Jared became aware that one of his ears hurt and his shoulder was stiff.  His stomach muscles ached, his throat was sore and his mouth felt like the litter box of a neglectful cat owner.

Jared opened his eyes.  He was in a strange bed, lying on a stranger’s warm chest and as he craned his neck back he could suddenly see the face of the person cradling him as close as a lost child.  Jeff.  Jensen’s father. The mob boss ready to return Jared to sexual slavery to get his son back.

Jared stiffened all over, his sleep-addled brain trying to figure out the best way to vacate Jeff’s arms and whether or not he should try to apologize for going into octopus mode while unconscious.  Jared had always been a cuddly sleeper.  But the arm holding Jared simply tightened around him, keeping him close.

“Awake?” Jeff asked mildly.

“Yeah,” Jared said and decided to hell with apologizing.  He hadn’t asked for any of this.

“How are you feeling?”

“Okay, I guess,” Jared muttered, although he felt like he’d been run over by a truck a few times.

“You survived Misha accidentally poisoning you.  It’s okay to say you’re feeling awful.”

“I’m fine,” Jared said, trying not to squirm.  Jeff was way beyond invading Jared’s personal space and snuggling with someone who Jared was sure didn’t much like him was very uncomfortable. “Just having a shitty year, I guess.”

“Don’t curse.”

It came down on Jared like a hammer.  He had been physically and mentally discomfited, but suddenly he was in agony, his breathing speeding up until all he could hear in his hot, ringing ears was his reedy, panicking breaths.

“Jared? Jared?”

“Panic attack,” Jared gasped, and he was in it, drowning, but at least he could name it, wrap his brain around what was happening.  The first few times, he had thought he was dying, and maybe death wouldn’t be so bad.  It had been the outward manifestation of his inner grief.   Everything he felt about his father’s death, worn on the outside where everyone could see.

Shit, he did not want Jeff to see this.

Jared tried to roll away, only to have Jeff immediately pull him back.  Jared struggled ineffectively, aware enough to know that punching Jeff in the face would be a very bad idea.  Jeff was grappling with him, staring at him, his mouth forming words that didn’t make it past the ringing in Jared’s ears.  There was no grounding in being held this way, by someone he didn’t know or trust, and Jared let himself writhe and pant and be washed away by the storm of fear and anxiety, knowing grimly that it couldn’t last forever.

It would end.  God, it had to end.

Finally, Jared sucked in a deep breath, his vision beginning to clear.  He could feel his hammering heart slowing, the chemical dump in his brain giving way to lethargy and a bubbling of intense emotion.  Great, he was going to cry in front of Jensen’s dad.

Jared cried as quietly as possible, just letting the tears run down his cheeks, his breathing loud and wet but there was nothing to be done about it.  He turned his face as far away from Jeff as possible.  He would have buried it in a pillow if the sensation of smothering wasn’t so close in his mind.  After a few moments of damp self-loathing, Jared realized Jeff was stroking his back comfortingly, as if he thought Jared deserved the consideration. And as if he felt, like so many others, that he had the right to touch Jared any way he liked.

“You don’t get to tell me how to talk,” Jared rasped finally, after his crying had wound down.

“It’s my house,” Jeff responded.

“Yeah, and I didn’t ask to be here, and you say ‘hell’ a lot anyway and you don’t get to control what I say.  You’re already pretty much in control of whether I live or die.  You can handle a few ‘shits’ and a ‘fuck’ here and there.”

“I can’t help it,” Jeff said, sounding more amused than annoyed.

“I get that.  But you’re not my dad.” Jared hiccupped on the last word.

“No, I’m not,” Jeff said and he sounded somewhat regretful.  He relaxed his grip and Jared slid tentatively away, inching out of Jeff’s arms. “Sam—she’s my friend and a doctor—she was here and she said you needed care.”

“You’ll take excellent care of me before you send me back to the Pellegrinos?  Doesn’t that strike you as funny?”

“I can’t do both?”

“I can’t…compartmentalize…that way,” Jared said. “If I could, I’d be sitting in a cage at Jensen’s house, singing classic rock with his collar around my neck.”

“That’s what my son wanted?  To own you?”

“Are you pretending you don’t know?” Jared asked, eyes narrowed skeptically. “Jensen’s not ‘that kind’ of guy?  Your son, professional killer, would never do such a thing?”

“You’re kind of a smart ass when you’re angry,” Jeff said, dark eyes twinkling. “I’m not sure if I like you better this way or when you were quivering like some terrified rabbit.  I’m not too familiar with my son’s…personal interests. But I do business with human traffickers on the regular.  I’m not one to get shocked or upset by the idea.  At least my son has good taste.”

“That’s the worst fucking compliment ever,” Jared retorted, pleased when Jeff’s plush mouth tightened with annoyance at the ‘f-word’. “’Oh hey, you’re so cute I can totally understand wanting to abduct and drug you!’”

“This conversation has no point,” Jeff said, rolling to the side of the bed and stretching.  He was wearing the rumpled clothes from the previous day.

Jared found that he agreed with Jeff.  What could be said that would convince Jensen’s dad to show compassion, mercy?  What could either of them do but antagonize each other?  Jeff didn’t seem at all riled up, however, and perhaps, Jared thought, that came from having to parent two surly teenage psychopaths.

Sitting up took some effort, and Jared fought off a wave of dizziness as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed.  Immediately, there was a warm, rough hand on his back—prickling his bare skin all over—helping to steady him.

“I’m okay,” Jared muttered, touched in spite of himself.

“You look like death warmed over.  Let me help you.”

“Fine.  Thanks.” Jared pulled back the sheets and blinked down at himself, face burning.  He was in Alaina’s panties. Just Alaina’s panties, and nothing else.  It shouldn’t have mattered; he’d made his first impression on Jeff naked and with a bag over his head.  But he had had, for such a brief moment, actual clothing.  He felt the loss keenly.

“You need a shower.  C’mon, let’s get you up.”

“No, that’s okay,” Jared said quickly.  He did not want to be fussed over by the sexy mob-boss father of his boyfriend-slash-kidnapper, both of whom had terrible intentions.

“You’d prefer a bath?”

“No!” There was something there, but Jared couldn’t explain it.  Just a wave of blind panic at the very idea of a bath, and he didn’t know why.

“Okay, then, shower it is.  Up we go!”

Before Jared could protest, Jeff was hauling Jared up, one arm draped over Jeff’s hard shoulder, and Jared wobbled a bit before he was buoyed up, embarrassed that yes, he did need the help after all.  He opened his mouth, closed it, and then let Jeff lead him into the adjoining bathroom, flushing all over in embarrassment.

Jeff set him down to rest limply on the closed seat of the toilet before going to start the shower.  Jared frowned--wondering how he could get his hands on a concealing towel, how he was going to convince Jeff to leave him alone, if he was going to be able to stand for any period of time in a shower stall feeling as shaky as he did--when Jeff started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Um, what are you doing?”

Jeff raised an eyebrow, his shirt half undone.  Jared could see the beginning of a very nice chest. “Is that a real question?  I’m getting undressed.”

“I’m not ready for the bonding experience of a communal shower, thanks anyway.”

“Stop acting like some pearl-clutching maiden spinster,” Jeff drawled, easing the shirt off his arms and reaching for the button on his slacks. “You’re not going to manage a shower all by yourself.”

“I can sit on the floor.”

“Don’t be a baby.” Jeff shucked his pants and his boxers and put his fists on his hips, facing Jared straight on.  Of course he was ridiculously attractive _everywhere_ , Jared thought feverishly.  His cock, thick and cut and half-erect, was as well formed as Jensen’s.  Oh God, Jared though, brain starting to short-circuit, that thought was nonsense, the two of them weren’t even _related_.

“Up we go,” Jeff said and Jared was standing, leaning on the bathroom counter for support, while Jeff quickly dragged the panties off Jared’s hips and helped him step out of them.  Jared could only blame his malfunctioning mind for the fact that he stood stiff and defenseless and let Jeff strip him like a doll. “There we are.”

Propped up over Jeff’s shoulder, standing nearly chest to chest, Jared felt his body react, his cock plumping up against Jeff’s thigh. Beyond embarrassing, and Jared closed his eyes with both the surge of light-headed desire he felt, and the sudden wish to be struck dead by an errant bolt of lightning.

“See,” Jeff said, and Jared opened his eyes to a Jeff smiling somewhat wickedly, showing his gleaming white teeth. “You’re doing just fine.”

“Please kill me.”

“When you’re having such a good time?” Jeff teased and Jared groaned, squeezing his eyes shut again. “Just hush.  Let me take care of you.  From what I hear, it’s what you like.”

Jared’s eyes popped open.  Jeff was regarding him shrewdly.

“W-what?”

“I had a short talk with Tim while you were out.  He told me a few things, not that it’s hard to see, not if you have eyes.”

“I’m…I’m not…”

“Like I said, just relax.  Let me take care of you.  It’s not like you really get a choice in the matter anyway.”

“That part,” Jared said dryly, as Jeff helped him into the shower stall and under the hot spray, “is at least familiar.”

The shower was as well-appointed and lush as anything Jared has seen so far in Jeff’s home.  Slick, glossy marble tiles and half a dozen high pressure nozzles delivering steaming water in a soothing, massaging rhythm.  It was relaxing, in the humid heat, and Jared gave in for the duration, set his head against Jeff’s slick shoulder and let the other man prop him up, anchoring him under the water.

“You doing okay?”

“As well as can be expected.”

“Thattaboy.” 

Jared drifted, eyes closed, wrapped in Jeff’s arms.  After a moment, Jared felt his arms being drawn up to rest on Jeff’s shoulders.   There was the click of an opened bottle, that same citrus scent in the damp air, and then two strong hands were stroking firmly along his scalp, moving in soothing circles, dragging a groan from between Jared’s lips.

“Feel good?”

“Y-yeah.”

“You’re nearly purring like a cat,” Jeff said, his voice sounding satisfied in a way that was maddeningly familiar and Jared stiffened.  There was no easy way to extricate himself from the situation, and it had the feel of tumbling down a rabbit hole, going farther and father, past any point of easy return.

“I can wash myself,” Jared muttered.

“I’m doing it,” Jeff replied easily.  His hands moved down to glide around the back of Jared’s neck, across the corded muscles of his shoulders, arching around the fan-like spread of his upper back.  It felt meltingly good, erotic, and Jared set his shoulders against the feeling, anger rising up and overtaking his reluctant arousal.

“I said, I can fucking do it!” Jared snarled.

“Language,” Jeff answered calmly.  He looked up and met Jared’s eye. “You going to try to plant your feet and throw a punch? Let’s see you try.”

It was a challenge that couldn’t be met and Jared knew it.  Not just because he felt flu-ish and wobbly.  On his best day he could knock Jeff down and it wouldn’t change anything.  With probably less effort than one snap of his fingers, Jeff could have his cadre of guards in the room.  It was the tactic of a bully; throwing down a gauntlet knowing the other party couldn’t fight back.

Slowly, Jared drew one arm away from Jeff’s shoulder and groped for the bright yellow pouf he’d seen dangling from the shower faucet.  Jeff’s stern mouth was kissing close, but Jared held the rounded puff of mesh up between their faces. “I said, I can _fucking_ wash myself.”

Jeff smiled slightly.  Then he twisted his hips, jerking Jared around and shoving hard. Before Jared knew it he was bent in half, thrust over to dangle awkwardly over Jeff’s thigh, one of Jeff’s hands slamming brutish and hard on the back of his shoulders to tilt him off balance.  He flailed with his hands, trying to regain his feet, and he felt both of his hands being gripped together, a sodden cord twisted around his wrists.  It grew tighter and tighter until it was a burning line digging into his skin. 

Jared opened his mouth to yelp and felt something like a slimy brick being shoved inside.  He bit down and gagged, then jerked his head when he felt a strong hand clasp his chin and keep his jaw closed tight.

“Keep that in your mouth unless you want it worse,” Jeff said, not even breathing heavily and Jared wobbled, caught off balance, only Jeff’s grip on his wrists and jaw keeping him from falling on his face. His hands tied together behind his back with the cord of Jeff’s shower pouf, and a bar of soap was bubbling up inside his mouth.

“Nod your head if you’re listening,” Jeff commanded, steel in his voice, and Jared swayed, angry but also now afraid.  He nodded quickly, nostrils flaring as he sucked in air, mouth thick and slick and disgusting.

“I think you may have gotten the wrong impression about me,” Jeff said softly, tugging up on the cord around Jared’s wrists when Jared attempted to find his footing, knocking him back off balance. “Let’s fix that.  You’re a guest in my house.  I don’t think it’s too much to ask for you to obey some simple rules.  Nod if you agree.”

Jared nodded.  Then he felt the grip on his jaw ease and the soap toppled from his mouth.

“Don’t swallow that,” Jeff said solicitously. “Soap’s not good for the stomach, and you’ve puked enough as it is.  Tilt your head and rinse your mouth out.  You still listening?”

Jared nodded, mouth open and tongue out, letting the suds drip off his lips and onto the tiled floor.

“I’m a bit old-school,” Jeff continued. “And you’re right; I’m not your dad.  But you will let me take care of you.  I have no problem putting you over my knee and spanking some sense into you if you can’t see reason.  Are we clear?”

“Yes,” Jared sputtered, disgusted and scared and furious and somehow still, _still_ turned on, as if he had some internal switch that came alive in the presence of ‘bossy, domineering assholes.’  He wasn’t sure if all the anger he felt was even directed at Jeff, but instead at himself.

Had he been trying to assert his independence, or had he been challenging Jeff so that the older man would take charge and put him in his place?  Jared shook his head, confused.  He was no longer sure of his own motives anymore, let alone the schemes of those around him.

“So how many do you think you earned?”

“W-what?”

“How many swats do you get?  You decide the number, let me see if you learned anything.”

“You do this with Jensen?” Jared sneered, trying to goad Jeff into a reaction.

“You can call me ‘Daddy’ while I do it, if that’s what you’re into,” Jeff said, seemingly unoffended. “How many?”

Jared hadn’t been counting, he swore that he hadn’t, but suddenly the number ‘six’ popped into his head and he knew it was accurate.  He felt sick, dizzy, and not just because his head was dangling and his mouth was dripping soap scum.

“Please don’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“Please don’t,” Jared said again. “I’m sorry.  I’m listening now.  Please don’t.”

Jeff was quiet for a moment and then Jared felt one soft tap on his ass, almost a caress, and he was then carefully levered upright and Jeff was unwrapping the cord from his wrists.

“Okay,” Jeff said, sounding both tired and triumphant.  He arranged Jared so that he once again was resting his arms on Jeff’s shoulders.  He reached for the soap, lathered up his hands, and once again began to glide them across Jared’s body. “You feeling okay? Sick to your stomach?”

Jared shook his head, feeling meek and nervous.

“You can talk, you know.  I’ll tolerate some sass, up to a point.”

“And how will I know what that point is?” Jared asked.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it with a little trial and error.”

“Great.”

“Just behave,” Jeff scolded gently.  His fingers were gliding just inside the crease of Jared’s ass, stroking soap-slick, embarrassingly close to what Jared considered his number one erogenous zone. “Let me take care of you.”

“Don’t—“

“Hush.  Just getting you clean.” A finger circled Jared’s rim firmly and he bent his head and used Jeff’s neck to muffle his moan.

“Hmm.”  The finger lingered, stroking and twisting.

“I…I think this is a little beyond ‘just getting me clean’,” Jared whispered weakly.

Jeff moved his hand.  He laughed a bit, shoulders shaking, and then said unsteadily, “You’re a bit of a temptation.”

“Am I tempting you to grant me my freedom and release me?”

“Funny.”  Jeff tilted Jared’s chin up and looked into his eyes. “I’d be tempted to give you a hand job to take care of this.” Jeff’s thigh nudged Jared’s erection. “But I don’t think you’ve done anything to deserve it.” Jeff leaned in for a slow, close-mouthed kiss.  Then he smacked his lips and grimaced.

“Let’s finish getting you cleaned up.  We’ll brush your teeth and tuck you back into bed.”

Jeff sounded darkly satisfied, even thrilled, listing the mundane tasks needed for Jared’s basic hygiene. Jared stood quietly, obediently letting Jeff clean him, and wondered what disturbing situation he had fallen into this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're at all interested in what the techniques Jeff uses in this chapter look like--the bar of soap and the rope around the wrist are NOT AT ALL approved, btw, let alone the sexual harassment--you can watch some YouTube vids of people practicing non-violent restraint; the type used most commonly in hospitals and schools.


	10. Ask Nicely

Misha poked his head into the room around noon and Jared—clean, sullen, still underdressed and now blissfully alone—only quirked an eyebrow at the other man’s arrival.

“Come to finish the job?”

“No.  Jeez.  Maybe let me apologize before accusing me of another murder attempt.”

Misha sidled in, carrying a tray.  It smelled delicious—Jared was now willing to bet everything Misha made smelled delicious, right before it nearly killed you—and Jared’s stomach rumbled loudly.

Misha smiled a bit. “Hungry?”

“My stupid stomach has a short attention span.”

“Look,” Misha said, setting down the tray and sitting on end of the bed. “I’ll say it.  I’m sorry.  I sure you don’t want to hear it, and it doesn’t make anything better.  But I am, I am sorry.  I’d add some stupid excuse, like ‘I was only following orders’ or ‘I made a dumb mistake’ but that just makes it worse.”

“Did Alaina tell you to poison me?”

“She told me to get you high,” Misha said bluntly.

“Why?” Jared asked.

Misha hesitated, one hand fiddling with the hem of his shirt.  Finally he said, “Ask her.  I told her: I’m out.  Whatever crazy scheme she’s got going, I’m not helping her.”

“I thought you were her house elf, her adoring slave.”

“And maybe you puking all over the floor was the equivalent of throwing me a sock.  Free Misha.  Damn, you scared the shit out of me.  I think you pretty much terrified everyone in the room.”

“I’m sure Jeff’s probably seen people die—almost die—before,” Jared muttered.

“Yeah, of course. Violent and bloody.  Not sick as a dog.  Look, he is who he is and he’s probably had a hand in ending more than a few lives.  But he’s a businessman, not a sadist.”

“Hmpf.”

“What’s your problem?” Misha asked, narrowing his blue eyes.

“You mean other than being kidnapped, raped, tortured, confined, beaten and poisoned?”

“That’s an impressive list,” Misha said with a low whistle. “But, I mean, no offense, you’ve rolled with the punches pretty good.  I’ve seen you sad and scared and hilariously, hilariously angry, but right now you just seem—I don’t know—bitter.  What’s up?”

“Is this part of your offer of a friendly ear?” Jared asked sarcastically.

“Offer’s still open,” Misha answered. “I know you don’t trust me—I wouldn’t either—but I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”

“I’m fine,” Jared muttered.  Then he looked over at Misha and blurted out, “It’s Jeff.”

“What about Jeff?”

“Forget it,” Jared said, “It doesn’t matter.”

“C’mon.  Try me.”

Jared mumbled quietly, “He brushed my teeth.”

“Did you say you brushed your teeth,” Misha responded, confused. “Um, yay?  Did you want a gold sticker on your chart?”

“No, he brushed my teeth.  Jeff brushed my teeth. For me.”

“Oh man, that’s fucked up,” Misha said, sounding both alarmed and impressed.

“Why don’t you sound more surprised?”

“I’m a little surprised, but I mean, I know Jeff.  He’s a nurturer.  Can be a little extreme about it.  Drives everyone crazy; is probably the reason he’s chronically single.  I mean, other than the fact that he runs an illegal business, is a workaholic, and kind of a serial cheater. But why didn’t you just tell him you could do it yourself?”

“It’s complicated,” Jared evaded, shifting his eyes away, remembering.

Jared had been feeling a bit better physically after his shower, but mentally quite out of sorts.  Jeff had wrapped Jared in a towel and helped him sit, then had dried himself off and shrugged into a robe.  He had been all smiles and gentle, light-hearted conversational patter as he’d toweled Jared’s head, run a gentle brush through his hair.  Jared had been stunned, mouth hanging open, wondering how he had stumbled into a Monty Python skit and how he could politely extricate himself from the situation.  He had been trying to find a polite refusal to stammer out—Jared had had no intention of being spanked or restrained for rudeness—when Jeff had levered the younger man up and whisked off the towel, turning him around.  Jared had watched surreally as Jeff had squirted lotion into his hands and began sliding them up and down Jared’s back.

The touch had left a trail of goosebumps across Jared’s skin and a thrill of heat in his gut.  He had looked into the mirror.  There he had stood, looking bigger than he ever felt, almost hulking when standing in front of Jeff.  Skin too pale and every muscle defined, his cheeks lean and flushed, his hair slicked back darkly from his face.  Jeff’s face had been absorbed, almost dreamlike, as he focused on his task, hands hot and possessive, and Jared had felt aroused, helpless, ashamed, and then suddenly furious.

 _Not yours._   His elbow had slammed back, almost of its own accord, and Jeff, startled, managed to dodge, his cheekbone grazed, and a strangled cry issuing from his mouth.  Jared had stumbled away, shocked at himself, then Jeff surged forward and Jared found himself grabbed, spun, and put into a choke hold.

“What the hell was that?” Jeff had gritted out and Jared hadn’t been able to explain, or even apologize.  There had been pressure on his windpipe and the world tunneled down.  Panic.

It had been bad, the worst yet, and when Jared had come back to himself—sobbing shakily and cradled in Jeff’s arms—he had realized it was because Jeff hadn’t been able to read what was happening.  Jeff had confused Jared’s gasps and struggles for defiance—not a panic attack—and had doubled down on his hold on Jared’s throat.

 _Jensen would have never made that mistake_ , Jared had thought.

“Okay now?” Jeff had asked gruffly and Jared hadn’t been—he was never okay—but he nodded meekly.

“We’ll deal with you hitting me later,” Jeff had said and Jared nodded again, exhausted.  This time, he had offered no resistance when Jeff fetched a towel to wipe Jared’s face and then, approaching with toothbrush in hand—bristles gleaming with mint paste—put his hand to Jared’s jaw and said, “Open.”

Now, looking up at Misha, Jared realized there was little point in rehashing any of this with Misha.  Misha couldn’t help him and as intimately embarrassing as it had been, Jared hadn’t been hurt.

The fact that it had been a green-eyed face swimming in his mind—that sharp stab of defensiveness had been from thinking of Jensen—when he had struck Jeff just made everything worse.  Jared defending himself because of Jensen’s prior claim seemed a piss poor reason to finally show some backbone.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Misha said after a long pause, as if he could read Jared’s mind.

“Good.  Because I don’t think I want to.”

“Here,” Misha said, standing and fetching the tray.  He set it on Jared’s lap and uncovered it, revealing a plate of sandwiches and a bowl of tomato soup.

“What’s in it this time? Quaaludes?”

“The sandwiches?  Mostly butter and gouda.  The soup is cream of tomato.”

“Campbell’s?”

“Oh my God, I _will_ poison you now,” Misha growled, drawing himself up, “I don’t feed people processed shit that came from a can! You—“

Jared tilted his head and smirked.

“Fine,” Misha said, deflating. “I get it, you know how to wound me.  Anyway, this is all perfectly safe.  Do you want me to prove it to you with a taste test?” He reached for the spoon.

“You ate a cookie in front of me,” Jared said.

Misha put the spoon down. “I did.”

“It’s fine,” Jared said tiredly. “Thanks for the food.”

Misha shifted, searching around the room, eyes finally alighting on the French doors. “You want to eat outside?  Jeff’s got a nice balcony setup, we can wave down to the perimeter guard.”

“No, that’s okay.”

“C’mon, you don’t want to go outside?” Misha wiggled like a puppy. “Who doesn’t like fresh air?  It’s not much, but to hear Tim tell it you’ve been cooped up for weeks.”

“I can’t,” Jared said flatly, because it was just one more humiliation to heap upon all the others. “I’m afraid of open spaces.”

“No shit,” Misha said, furrowing his brow. “Agoraphobic?”

“Yes.”

“Shit, sorry.  Um, do you want me to like get you a cardboard box to sit in?  Make you a snug blanket fort?”

“Between Jeff brushing my teeth and you offering to build me a tree house, I’m feeling about five years old today,” Jared said sarcastically, looking away.

“It was a blanket fort, not a tree house.”

“Pass.  I kind of have the same problem, with small spaces. ”

“You are the Goldilocks of phobias,” Misha said, sounding impressed.

“Thanks. It’s more about feeling like I can’t breathe, being confined.”

“Hm.  I’m sorry.  Is there anything I can get you, anything that you want?”

Jared turned to look at Misha. “Can you get me some clothes?  Real clothes?”

“Yeah,” Misha said. “Can’t guarantee you’ll get to keep them on, but sure.”

“Um, Misha.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe some actual underwear?”

Misha’s eyes flickered to the blanket that was pulled up to Jared’s chest. “You naked under there?”

Cheeks flushed red, Jared tugged at the blanket and muttered, “Not exactly.”

“Ah-ha. Same pair or new pair?”

“New pair,” Jared replied, blushing harder. “Jeff’s got a whole drawer of them.”

Jared had politely asked for some boxers after the shower and his panic attack and Jeff’s takedown in the bathroom.  Jeff had only frowned, pulled out a black lace pair from a drawer in his dresser, and had said, “Don’t play games, Jared.  It doesn’t suit you.”

“A whole drawer you say,” Misha replied innocently.

“Yeah, Misha,” Jared said, crossing his arms. “Something tells me you know that.  And Alaina knows that.  And now Jeff seems to think that I have some sort of panties fetish, which is terribly convenient, because it seems he _also_ has a panties fetish.”

“Probably true,” Misha said, giving up on the pretense that he had no idea what Jared was talking about. “I mean, Jeff lives here and I live here and the guards keep stuff here.  It wouldn’t have been hard for Alaina to get you some boxers if she’d felt like it.”

“What is she doing, matchmaking?  This is a really weird way to set me up with her dad.”

Misha spread his hands. “I’m not in on it.  Not anymore.  Now, I’ve got stuff to do.  I’ll try to get you some clothes, okay?”

“Okay.  Thanks, I guess.”

“See you later,” Misha said, leaving with one last reassuring smile.  Jared waited until he was gone and then turned his attention to the food on his lap.

It looked delicious.  The bread on the sandwiches was toasted a crispy brown, the cheese smooth and melted all the way to the edges.  Jared picked up one sandwich and raised it to his mouth, then put it back on the tray, lips tightening.  It was simple mechanics—open mouth, insert food, chew and swallow—but Jared found his hand trembling.  It suddenly seemed impossible.

“This is really fucking inconvenient,” he muttered.  Whatever, chances were when he got hungry enough, he would eat.  He wouldn’t starve himself.

But he was hungry enough to eat.  That wasn’t it.  Eating had always been one of Jared’s great pleasures and now he was staring at his plate, unreasonably terrified.

It was infuriating.  Like fate had catalogued all the things that made Jared happy and then conspired to take them away one by one.  Now all that was left seemed to be twisted, tainted, painful pleasures that he had to wait to be granted.

“This is so unfair.”

“What’s so unfair?”

Jared looked up, swallowing down his rage, his despair.  Jeff was standing in the doorway, looking solicitous, pleased, Jared in his bed exactly where he had left him.

“Nothing,” Jared said quietly, trying to look neutral.  Engaging with Jeff seemed a sure way to end up in some sort of restraint hold.

“I see Misha brought you some food.  Eat up.”

“Not really hungry,” Jared said, because ‘I’m not-so-irrationally afraid it’s poisoned’ was an impolitic statement.

“Nonsense.  Come on.”  Jeff sat down and picked up the spoon. “Sam mentioned your weight.  You need to eat.”

“What’s wrong with my weight?” Jared asked defensively.  He’d been teased for being skinny when he was younger, but once he’d matured and put on muscle, he hadn’t thought much about it.

“She mentioned that your body fat was low, that you had probably been dieting.  Now, she didn’t say eating disorder—“

“Oh my God,” Jared exclaimed, too annoyed to keep his tone inoffensive and neutral. “Yes, I was put on a special diet.  By Jensen!  The bland, shitty, ‘eat a ton of chicken and rice and then do a jillion sit-ups in an unheated basement’ diet.  None of that was my idea!  I would probably kill someone if it would get me a package of Oreos!”

Jeff frowned, comprehension dawning on his face, and Jared wondered how much Tim had told him.  Jared watched Jeff look from Jared to the soup, then back again, and he had his own ‘eureka’ moment.

“You can just be honest, you know,” Jared said softly.

“What do you think I’m being dishonest about?” Jeff asked.

“You want to feed me,” Jared answered and watched Jeff’s full lips tighten, but the other man didn’t deny it.

“You need care.”

“Yeah, but I can feed myself,” Jared said, insight into the situation coming faster and faster. “But you want to do it.  You don’t want me to say no, to deny you, because you like it.”

Jeff answered gruffly. “Everyone knows that about me.”

“Yeah, but you try to pamper your kids or your girlfriends or hell, your employees, and they say no, you back off.  Because they’re people and they have the right to say no.  But now you have me, someone who can’t say no, who can’t leave.  You think you can do what you like, as much as you like, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“What I like and what you need are at this moment basically the same thing,” Jeff argued, face a bit flushed with anger.  But Jared knew he was hitting the target with his words.

“I say ‘no’ and you think, ‘How dare he? How dare he say no to me?’  And then you grab me and you make me do it.  But I say ‘no’ because I’m a person.  I am a person, Jeff, and I have the right to say no.”

Jeff stared at Jared, jaw working. However he seemed to be listening.

“You should ask,” Jared said finally, into the silence. “You should ask and back off if I don’t agree.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever called me by my name before,” Jeff said quietly.

“I can call you ‘Daddy’ while we argue about my human rights, if that’s what you’re into,” Jared retorted.

“Touché.”

Jared flopped back against the pillows, heart pounding a bit.  Jeff wasn’t Jensen.  Jensen, pretending to be someone else, someone softer.  Pretending to listen, then doing whatever the hell he wanted.  Jeff might be wrestling with his darker impulses, but at least he seemed to acknowledge it, to own it.

Picking up the spoon, Jeff dipped it into the soup, then held it up.  He didn’t ask, but he raised an eyebrow in question.

“I’m not sure I can,” Jared said softly.

“Try,” Jeff said encouragingly, and that wasn’t a hand pinching his nose and forcing his mouth open, so that was an improvement.

“Try for ‘Daddy’?” Jared teased, immediately regretting it when he saw the hungry look cross Jeff’s face. “Sorry.”

“You want me to back off you better stop with that right now.  You send out a hell of a lot of mixed messages.”

“Sorry,” Jared said again and opened his mouth.  The soup was still warm and he held it in his mouth for a moment, swishing it around as if to detect potential deadly substances, before finally forcing it down.

“Good boy.”

Jared snorted and Jeff chuckled, a low dark sound.

“I want to go home,” Jared said suddenly, and Jeff stopped smiling.

“I’m sure you do.”

“Not going to force me to eat soup, but you’re not going to let me go, are you?”

“My children are the most important people in the world to me,” Jeff answered. “If you’re what Jensen wants I’m going to make sure he gets you, but his safety and well-being come first.”

“So glad my whole ‘I’m a person’ speech got through to you.”

“Some people are more people than others, I guess,” Jeff said, shrugging.  He didn’t seem too put out by the idea.

“’All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.’”

“What’s that?”

“Just a quote from a book,” Jared said, reaching for the spoon. “I think I can feed myself now.  Just needed one bite to get going, I guess.”

“I want to do it,” Jeff said, eyes dark and honest and locked on Jared’s face. “Let me?”

“Okay.”

There was no reason not to agree to it.  Jared lay quietly and let Jeff feed him, feeling depressed.  Whether he agreed to do everything Jeff wanted or dug in his heels and rebelled, the result would be the same.  Jeff finished with the soup and started on the sandwiches, tearing off small pieces and pressing them up to Jared’s mouth.  Each time Jared opened his mouth for a bit, Jeff’s warm fingertips brushed against his lower lip, or his teeth.  There was that familiar erotic focus, every piece of Jared centered on his mouth and what was being placed inside it and Jared cast around, looking for a distraction.

“Any word on Jensen?”

“Some.  Don’t you worry about it.”

“Don’t worry my pretty little head over it?” Jared said sarcastically.

“It is a pretty head,” Jeff said happily, patting Jared’s tousled hair. 

“I’m full.”

“Just one more bite.” Jeff’s fingers pressed for entry at Jared’s mouth.

“I’m full,” Jared said, locking eyes with Jeff.  He kept his mouth closed tight, jaw locked.  There was a brief war inside Jeff—Jared could see it playing out on the other man’s face, but then Jeff smiled ruefully and set down the sandwich.

Jeff scooped up the tray. “I need to work.  Cohen’s stationed outside the door, just call out if you need anything.  Try to rest.”

“Okay.”

Within moments, Jared was yawning.  He felt a little spurt of fear—was it the soup, was it drugged?  He finally decided he was probably just tired and emotionally drained.  The soup was most likely fine.  And if it wasn’t, well, there wasn’t anything he could do about it now.

He drifted off to sleep.  A few minutes or a few hours later, Jared wasn’t sure, he was sleepily aware that Jeff was in the room again.  Something square and plastic was pressed into Jared’s hand, he heard the crinkle of a wrapper.

“Cookies from my own private stash,” Jeff whispered. “Don’t tell Misha.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Jared murmured drowsily and tucked his hand with its prize under the pillow, tumbling back into sleep.


	11. Innocent

Tim hovered outside the closed door of Jeff’s bedroom.  He wasn’t used to waiting on ceremony—not for many people, at any rate—and he kept his body calm and still, even as his mind stayed active and aware.  One of Jeff’s guards was sitting in a chair just outside the door.  The man, Matt Cohen, gave Tim a brief nod before turning his gaze back to the hallway.  While Tim didn’t anticipate a team of mercenaries storming the mansion, he appreciated that the pretty blue-eyed kid was alert and taking his job seriously. 

He wasn’t constantly on his phone—like Benedict always was—or stuffing his face with candy—like Speight.  If there was an attack on the compound, Tim could easily imagine how one swift well-placed kick would lodge a butterscotch lifesaver in Speight’s throat, leaving him choking and useless in short order, his stupid little mustache twitching with his death throes.  If the guards were Tim’s responsibility, he would already have had a sharp word or two with them, but they were under Alaina’s purview.

Although he was waiting for Jeff, Tim’s mind kept returning to the kid—Jared—sleeping just beyond the bedroom doors.  Tim prided himself on his remote professionalism; however he knew he wasn’t the least bit aloof when it came to Jared.  Tim had seen a lot in his years working for Jeff—starting when they were both young men, groomed to step into their respective fathers’ shoes.  A certain level of moral side-stepping was required, both when Tim had been Jeff’s cleaner and later when he had trained Jensen and then scheduled his hits.  It helped that Tim didn’t see anyone as innocent; after all, even a child’s face could hide the heart and mind of a stone cold killer.  But Tim liked to keep things quick and humane.  He didn’t get off on violence; it was just part of the job.

Then came the day that Jensen had rolled up—that cold, calculating, dead-eyed boy strangely alight and alive, almost manic with excitement—lugging a veritable giant of a man.  Jensen, who didn’t even pretend any filial affection when it came to Jeff, who treated his adoptive sister with cold disdain, who viewed all other personal relationships as a series of business transactions, had been different.  Light and fire in Jensen’s eyes and Tim would have called it love if experience hadn’t taught him otherwise.  More than obsession and possession.  Something else.  Whatever you called it, it was a dangerous emotion for someone like Jensen, a feral animal wearing the trappings of a controlled, fastidious man.

Tim had taken one look at unconscious Jared—lanky and bruised, but pretty enough—and couldn’t see what the fuss was about.  Maybe, Tim had thought, Jared would amuse Jensen for a week or two, before being disposed of.

But it was not to be.  Jensen had excitedly laid out his extensive plan for Jared’s long-term captivity, assuming Tim would be complicit.

Tim didn’t really do torture.  He had done a lot—for Jeff, Jensen and Alaina—detached and pragmatic in the face of horror.  Holding prisoners, interrogations, dispatching enemies—yes.  But nothing like what Jensen had decided to do with Jared.  Tim hadn’t even known he’d had it in him to be appalled.

Some hidden internal moral code.  Was in the Dom in him?  Tim didn’t know.

Even worse, Tim had begun to see the appeal.  Hell, he still did.  Jared’s damp, shiny eyes locked on Tim’s face every time Tim opened the slat in the basement door.  The kid had the way of making someone feel like the center of the universe.   That soft, deep, trembling voice, begging for help and pleading for reassurance, responding so sweetly to Tim’s commands.  And under Tims’ hands, Jared’s cheek or his sweat-damp nape, pliant and receptive to control.

If Tim had seen Jared’s profile on an escort site, if the kid had been truly selling himself, Tim would have been tempted to set up a regular schedule, regardless of price.  And desire for a person—separate for pure, physical need—was dangerous.

Nobody’s truly innocent, but Jared may come the closest, Tim thought.  Closer than any person Tim has ever known.

 _This is wrong_. Not a phrase Tim had too much experience with.  _This is wrong_ , as in, it’s been planned wrong, or _this is wrong_ , as in, abort the mission, something’s off.  But never: _this is wrong_ in your heart.  Tim had been sure for years that he didn’t have one.

The door opened and Tim straightened to attention as Jeff stepped out into the hallway.  His face was stupidly fond, an expression Tim had seen many times before.  Jeff was ruthless enough—he had to be in his line of work—but he was a ridiculous marshmallow sometimes, even if the recipients of his warm and fuzzy approach occasionally found it more alarming than flattering.

“How is he?” came out of Tim’s mouth almost automatically, and why not, there was no hiding it.  Jensen, Jeff, Tim—Jared had all three of them wrapped up in him, whether he wanted it or not.

“Resting,” Jeff said curtly.

Tim nodded, dragging his mind back to his original purpose.  That fragile kid—tucked away in Jeff’s room like gold being hoarded by a dragon—was not Tim’s immediate concern.

“Something’s up with Pellegrino.”

“This isn’t rocket science, Tim,” Jeff said impatiently, clearly annoyed.  His gaze was as dark as when Tim had come back from the meeting the previous night and—seeing Jeff occupied—only shook his head in silent negation. “What do they want now?”

“Nothing.”  
“Nothing?”

“Something’s changed.  That meeting last night was all wrong.”

“Did they threaten you?  Did they threaten Jensen?”

“No,” Tim said. “That’s just it.  No threats, no demands.  Not like when they initially contacted us.”

The communication at the earliest had been pointed but polite.  Jensen had stolen an asset that belonged to the Pellegrino stable, had killed seven men (including Mark), was contained and alive and what did Jeff intend to do to make it right?  It had been a less than ideal situation, but straightforward.

“What do they want, then?”

“They wouldn’t say.  They were all smiles, but deflected the conversation every time I tried to initiate negotiations.  Like we were just having tea together or something, no real agenda in mind.  Made my skin crawl.”

“Hell.  Any sign of my son?”

“They showed me a video when I asked for assurances.  He’s alive, doesn’t look harmed.”

“They can’t mean to keep him,” Jeff huffed. “To what end?”

Tim frowned. “I don’t know.  I don’t know what the hell they’re doing.  I have another meet in a few hours.  They agreed to it readily enough.  I feel like they’re just humoring me, though.”

Jeff lowered his voice. “The Russian?  Is he involved?”

“No sign of the Russian.  You’d think killing his men and sending him underground would have made things easier for us.  Still, you never know with Dima.”

Jeff hesitated.  Then he said, “Did you lead with Jared?  That we have him?  If they want an exchange…”

“No.  To be honest, I wasn’t sure we’d have a living person left to exchange, thanks to Misha.”

“Lead with that.”

Tim covered his dismay with ease.  Disposable.  Jared was ultimately disposable in Jeff’s eyes.  It shouldn’t have been a disappointment.

“I can organize an extraction.”

“No.  Let’s keep it cordial for the moment.  The Russian’s still on the loose and I’d like to avoid burning any additional bridges.”

“I suspect the bridge is already burned,” Tim replied dryly. “Jensen killed Mark.”

Jeff harrumphed. “Impetuous idiot.”

“No, he’s not,” Tim said. “We’ve never had to make excuses for him before, not after he killed his biological father.  He’s professional.  The job has always been everything.”

“Young love, then,” Jeff said and he sounded a bit wistful. “Despite everything, it’s nice.  I was so worried for him.  Still worried, now, for a different reason, but it’s nice to know the boy’s human.”

Tim nodded as if he agreed, before excusing himself.  He maintained control over his emotions, forcing himself not to throw one last long look at that closed door, at the room where Jared slept.  He  had to be the one to keep feeling out of it.  If Jensen, unlikely as it was, was a love-struck idiot, and Jeff was vacillating between the joy of playing with a new toy and worry over his son, there had to be one person left to stay in control.

Poor baby, Tim allowed himself to think, before burying in all deep down and leaving to sort out Jensen’s damn mess.


	12. Inevitable

“How you doing, slugger?” Alaina asked, blue eyes gleaming.  She was sitting at a glass table in the sunroom, her laptop open before her, bare feet propped up on a wicker chair.  Her long, well-groomed nails clicked and clattered over the keyboard.

Jared was sure there were all manner of witty comebacks he could offer as a rejoinder, but instead he chose to shrug and then settle in to a chaise longue in the opposite corner of the room.  There wasn’t much point in accusations or attempting niceties. Things were the way there were.

Lowering his expectations had done wonders for Jared’s state of mind.  All he had to do was acknowledge that everyone was awful to varying degrees—and out to get him—and it eliminated any chance of relying too much on hope and the idea of human kindness.  Decency was a lie.

Jared had poked his head out of Jeff’s room in the late afternoon, feeling well-rested and steadier, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt.  The clothes had been left bundled at the foot of the bed, probably by Misha. Jared had been greeted by a friendly-seeming guy in a sharp, dark suit.  Black hair, blue eyes, all-American jaw.  The guy—Matt, he had supplied, helpfully—had been more than happy to direct Jared down to where the others were congregated.

Jeff had an indoor pool, the walls and ceiling sparkling glass.  Inside, Alaina was ostensibly working, Tim was absent, and Misha was splashing at one end of the pool.  On the other side of the pool, Jeff was swimming laps with dogged determination, his powerful arms pulling him swiftly through the water.

At first Jared had faltered in the doorway, concerned that all the open space might become a problem.  But it had been surprisingly nice, both airy and yet enclosed.  He had felt relatively calm inside the expansive space.

Unable to get a rise out of Jared, Alaina turned back to her work, a little furrow on her normally placid brow.  She typed quickly, muttering to herself.

“Hey, man,” called Misha from the water. “Want to come in?”

Jared shook his head.  He didn’t feel up to it and chances were—his luck being what it was—he would either be maneuvered into a swimsuit with embarrassing cutouts or drowned in the deep end.

“Shouldn’t you be working on dinner?” Alaina called to Misha, still frowning at her computer screen.

“I’ve got it all under control.”

“If you’re not in the kitchen cooking then it better not be salad.  Salad is not a meal.”

“I pity your colon,” Misha retorted, propping his elbows up on the deck of the pool. “It’s pizza.  Already put everything together, twenty minutes in the oven and we’re ready to go.”

“Better not be any kale on it.”

“It’s not kale, it’s arugula,” Misha replied and then ducked his head under the water before Alaina could work up a response.

“Fuck,” Alaina muttered, but her ire seemed directed more at her computer than Misha.

“Stuck on a level of Candy Crush?” Jared quipped, because yes, apparently he was going to try and match wits with Alaina.  He smiled faintly when she turned a beady-eyed stare his way.

“We can’t all be kept men,” Alaina cooed. “Some of us don’t work on our backs.”

“For the one hundredth time, I’m not a hooker,” Jared said tiredly.  “So stop auditioning to be my pimp.” And then, because he didn’t know when to quit. “Do you need help?”

“As if you could help me with anything.”

“As you like,” Jared said, feeling a bit stung.  Stupid of him to offer to help.  Alaina was no longer playing nice—if you could can any of the ways she’d treated Jared before nice.  Although he knew her previous friendly demeanor had been an act, the coldness was still hard to take.  At minimum, Jared had thought _he_ would be the one rebuffing _her_ friendly overtures.

“Mistakes in my world usually end up with someone dead,” Alaina said distractedly, softening her earlier harsh words.  And then, in a sharper tone, “Maybe you’ll be less tempted to mansplain if you know that your bullshit answer may get someone’s kneecaps broken.”

Jared bit back a retort.  He wasn’t a computer whiz by any means but he was more than competent.  He knew his way around.  The silence between then lingered awkwardly and Jared silently hoped for a distraction, and then winced when he finally got one.

Jeff.  Jeff was emerging from the pool, like some kind of wet dream.  All lean muscle and dripping chest hair, his cock stuffed into tiny swim briefs.  There was probably some aerodynamic reason for them, Jared thought feverishly, but instead the slip of fabric just served to cup Jeff’s cock lovingly and highlight the curve of it to the best of its ability.  Jared swallowed hard and he blushed as Jeff’s dark eyes zeroed in on him.  Jeff smiled, as if he knew what Jared was thinking.

“How’s it going, honey?” Jeff asked Alaina, dropping a brief kiss on her hair.

Alaina grimaced. “Not good.  You’re getting me wet.  And don’t call me ‘honey.’  I’m your second, it’s bad for morale.”

“There’s no one in here but us,” Jeff said and winked at Jared. “You worried about losing face in front of Misha?”

“Whatever.  Dad, the numbers don’t check out.  We may need to…Jared, can you please excuse us?”

The words were polite, even though the tone was not.  Relieved to escape Jeff’s overwhelming presence, Jared stood and made his way over to the side of the pool.  He was barefoot and he rolled up his cuffs, sitting down carefully to dangle his feet in the water.

Misha swam up to him.  He was clad in loud, baggy Hawaiian-print swim trunks.  It reminded Jared a little of his friend Chad—same loud, questionable fashion choices—and he felt a pang of wistfulness and regret.  How was Chad doing?

“You dress yourself?” Misha asked, grinning, even though he already knew the answer.

“Yes.  I’ve apparently graduated from pre-schooler to kindergartner.”

“Ah, the big leagues!”

“Ha.”

“You should play along,” Misha said quietly and Jared jerked his head toward the other man, frowning at his serious tone. “You could do worse than Jeff.  At least he’ll keep you safe.”

“Misha, stop.”

“I’m just being real here,” Misha insisted.

“So many options,” Jared said sarcastically. “Except the one I really want.  Besides, do you really think Jeff is going to choose me over Jensen?”

“Sorry.”  Misha scooted back a bit, treading water. “I just thought…”

“What?”

“What do you want, really?”

“To leave.”

“Seriously?”

“I keep telling people,” Jared muttered.

“Okay, let’s do it.”

“What?!”

“Shush.”  Misha looked over at where Alaina and Jeff were embroiled in a seemingly heated conversation.

“Are we plotting to overthrow Jeff?” Jared snarked. “More poison? Ricin in the pizza?”

“What I’m saying is, do you want to get out of here?” Misha asked, blue eyes solemn. “I do.  I have for some time.”

Jared hesitated. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Bah.  I’ve been alone in this for a while.  It’s kind of hard to get any momentum on your own.  But the two of us together, we might have a shot.  Do you want to try?”

Jared frowned.  Hope was a trick and a lie.  Hadn’t he learned that already?

“Besides,” Misha continued, “what’s the worst they could do to us?  You’re leverage for Jensen and I’m leverage for the Russian.  They’re not going to kill us if they catch us.  Probably.”

“There’s a lot of things worse than death,” Jared muttered.

“Fine. I’ll let you take the lead.  If you want.  After all, I’ve got less to lose, I guess.  Just more time working as Jeff’s unpaid and unappreciated chef.”

“I’ll think about it,” Jared hedged, feeling torn.  It was a nice fantasy.  Almost too nice.  Misha, the one person in the house poised to understand his situation, offering an escape scenario.  Too tidy.  Call it paranoid, but Jared was quickly learning that trusting people was the first and worst mistake.

“Just, I’ve got some options,” Misha continued mysteriously. “Intel I’ve collected since I’ve been here.  Knowledge is power, you know.  Keep your eyes open.  Maybe we can find a way to work this.”

Uneasy, Jared nodded again, wanting to be done with the conversation.  Apparently, it didn’t matter if he went in the pool or not.

There were plenty of ways to drown.

“I should get out,” Misha said finally, hoisting himself out of the water.  Jared sighed and stood up.

Together, they walked back toward Jeff and Alaina, who were still in a heated discussion.

“Are you sure, pumpkin?”

“Ugh, don’t call me that.  And yes. Look.”  Alaina leaned over her laptop.  The screen had gone dark and Jared watched as she keyed in her password, bringing up the clear image of an enlarged spreadsheet.

“I’m going to put the pizzas in the oven,” Misha murmured in Jared’s ear and headed out of the room.

Jeff said to Alaina, “He’s new.  It could just be a learning curve—“

“No,” Alaina growled. “It’s deliberate.  Payment’s due on the 12th, but he waits until near the end of the month.  Payments off by a little, just enough to be seen as an insult.  He’s defying us.”

“I’m not relishing the idea of sending in someone to smash this kid’s fingers with a hammer—“

As they argued, Jared took a moment to study figures on the screen.  Neat columns and rows of dates and amounts.  Rent? Protection money?  He didn’t know, but the longer he stared, the more a pattern started to emerge.

Breaking off mid-sentence, Alaina whipped around, glaring at Jared.  She slammed the laptop shut.

“You’re as bad as Misha! Always skulking around, looking over my shoulder!”

“Jared, leave us for a moment, please,” Jeff said.

“Okay,” Jared answered, offended at being viewed as a sneak.  He wasn’t the one skulking around, making Machiavellian plans. “I don’t think he’s defying you, though.  The guy who’s making the payments.”

“Oh, you’re an expert on this,” Alaina sneered, folding her arms.

“I think he’s dyslexic or something.”

Jeff stared.

Alaina said, “What?”

“The errors,” Jared said, shrugging. “Looks like he’s just flipping a lot of the numbers, reversing them.  Payment due on the 12th is paid on the 21st.  I don’t think it’s on purpose.”

Jeff beamed, sending a little rill of pleasure up Jared’s spine.  Alaina looked like she had swallowed a bug.

“I…I have a friend who has problems with numbers,” Jared continued. “He used to flip numbers around all the time.”

Alaina said coldly, “We’re just supposed to believe—“

“Good eye, son.”

Alaina’s mouth snapped shut, tightening into a bright red line.

“Not many people would have caught that,” Jeff said.  He reached out and clasped a hand on the back of Jared’s neck, making Jared’s eye lashes flutter involuntarily at the surge of praise and comfort caused by the words and the touch. “Thank you, Jared.”

“You’re welcome,” Jared said softly.

“Of course,” Alaina scoffed angrily.  She scooped up her laptop and stalked out of the room.  Jared watched her storm out, stomach clenching in dismay.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jeff said, hand kneading Jared’s nape, sending shivers down his spine.  It was both reassuringly paternal and erotic, two things that went hand in hand when it came to Jared’s dealings with Jeff. “You’ve saved me a lot of trouble.  I don’t like dealing with defiance.  Kind of a pet peeve of mine.  I’m glad I don’t have a problem brewing.”

“I didn’t mean to piss off Alaina,” Jared said quietly.  He’d made her lose face in front of Jeff and it should have been a sweet victory—a little of his own back—but he just felt miserable.  The knowing look in Jeff’s eyes made Jared think that Jeff was somewhat cued in some of the machinations happening within his own home.

“She’s an independent one,” Jeff said fondly, sighing. “Also not a big fan of men telling her what to do, but that’s no secret.  She’ll get over it.  Don’t worry about it. C’mon, I’ll get cleaned up and we’ll get some food.” 

Jeff put subtle pressure on the back of Jared’s neck, and Jared let himself be led dutifully from the room.

There was pizza for dinner, crust crisp and toppings fragrant and the arugula was fine, despite Jeff’s loud objections.  Jared’s stomach turned at the idea of eating, even though he was very hungry.  He forced himself to eat as much as he was able, feeling Jeff watching him.  It was communal food, everyone eating from the same dish, it was probably safe.  Jared ate and Jeff smiled approvingly, Alaina glared daggers at him and Misha made awkward small talk to cover the painful lulls in conversation.  Tim was not at dinner and Jared missed his presence keenly.  He seemed to be the only one without some complicated plan.

There was wine as well, a sophisticated and mellow red, easy to drink.  Jared let Jeff fill his glass again and again, even though he knew it was probably a mistake.  There was this sense of something coming, something inevitable.  It was there, in Jeff’s predatory smiles, in the way his hands roamed over Jared’s body, lingering, hungry touches.  Jared didn’t know if he feared or welcomed what he knew was coming after dinner, so he drank and drank and smiled, simply because it was easier.

Maybe Misha was right.  Give in.  Maybe the best choice was to ally himself with Jeff.  Jared drained his glass again, feeling flushed and loose-jointed, arousal simmering in his veins.  The alcohol pushed away the fears rising in his mind.

Sometime before Jeff came to take his arm and lead him to bed, Jared ducked into the washroom off the dining room to relieve his bladder.  Misha was waiting by the door as Jared stumbled out and he met Jared’s eye and said simply, “What’s the password?”

Despite the wine he had drank, Jared knew immediately what Misha meant.  What the hell. He leaned in and breathed his best guess into the shell of Misha’s ear, before wobbling back to the dining room.

Then he let Jeff drape a possessive arm around his shoulders and lead him to bed.


	13. Sit On Daddy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Jared/Jeff sex scene you have been anticipating/dreading. Definitely dub-con/non-con. Avoid or consume as per your own predilections. The title for this was taken from a delicious comment left by Sonyama.

“Drunk,” Jared muttered, as his shoulder hit the door frame, and Jeff let out a low, dark laugh.

“Not that drunk,” Jeff said and he was leading Jared into the bedroom, almost carrying him, the taller man’s arm draped heavily over his shoulders.

“Yes, I am,” Jared slurred, because it was important, important for some reason, for Jeff to know that, even if he didn’t seem to be listening.  It seemed important to say it.

“You’re just relaxed,” Jeff countered, and he swung Jared down onto the bed. “I like you this way.”

Staring up at the spinning ceiling, Jared lay passively and let Jeff work his pants off his hips.  Let himself be undressed, not moving a muscle.  Jeff caring for him.  Why not?  It was what Jeff liked.  Jeff thrilled to it.  It didn’t feel bad.

Suddenly there was a mouth, hot and wet, working its way across the sharp arc of Jared’s bare hipbone and Jared moaned and leaned into the touch.  He looked down blearily and met Jeff’s eyes.  Jeff smiled, his mouth sucking bruises into Jared’s flesh, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Ungh,” Jared groaned and rolled away, curling into a protective ball.  Jeff’s mouth and hands followed, palms sliding roughly across Jared’s back, mouth at the nape of his neck and Jared shivered and whimpered.  It felt good, so good, and _wrong, wrong, wrong_.  How he wanted to be touched and yet not the person he wanted to be doing the touching. “Wanna sleep.”

“C’mon.”  Jeff’s hands tried to unroll Jared, but he just tucked himself smaller, tighter.  The light was too bright for his eyes.

“Ngh. G’way.”

“Fine.  You need to brush your teeth.”

“Don’ wanna.”

“C’mon,” Jeff cajoled again but it was far away and unimportant.  Jared was sleepy and warm and he wanted to tumble into the darkness, far away from everything.  The wine was already making everything less stressful—alarm bells ringing, Jared knew, but they were muted—and Jared wanted that freedom, that absence of anxiety and pain.  Sleep would bring that.

“You do it,” Jared muttered and curled up even smaller.

He dozed briefly and then awoke to the scent of mint, a firm hand on his jaw.  Someone working a toothbrush around his mouth, then holding a plastic cup to his lips.  Afterwards, Jared swallowed down the mouthful of paste and water and bent himself back into a snug ball.  There were blankets, somewhere, and he groped and rolled until he was buried beneath them.  From far away, he heard an exasperated sigh.

“Fine, then,” Jeff said, voice far away, and Jared slept.

Sometime in the night, in the warm darkness, Jared roused to semi-consciousness.  He was no longer on his side, buried in blankets.  He was face down and there was a warm body beneath him, holding him tight, his face was buried in the soft skin of someone’s neck.  His own neck and shoulders were being kissed, his skin damp and tingling.  His legs were spread wide around another body and a blunt-fingered hand was rubbing along the crease of his exposed ass, spreading cool wetness.  Jared moaned.

“Jensen,” he murmured, willing, but confused.

“No, baby,” said a rough voice and it wasn’t Jensen.  The chest beneath him was matted with crisp hair, not like the expanse of Jensen’s smooth, golden skin.  The smell and feel was all wrong.  Jared frowned, feeling good, confused but relaxed.  The stroking continued and he almost toppled back into sleep, soothed, until suddenly two fingers speared deep inside him, stroking slick and slow, and Jared roused again and moaned loudly with pleasure.

“Please,” he cried softly, not sure what he was asking or who.  God, it felt good.  Two fingers fucking deep inside him, where he’d been empty for so long.  He couldn’t spread his legs wide enough.  He fucked back on the fingers, his cock hard, rubbing against the dick beneath him.

“Good boy,” someone said and there was a hand on the back of his neck.  Jeff, Jared thought dimly, it was Jeff and then feverish lips met his own, Jeff’s tongue plunging inside to fuck Jared’s mouth, mimicry of the movement of his fingers below.  It was a torrid wave, surging over Jared and dragging him down, setting his skin on fire.

“No,” Jared mumbled, the word lost in the burning wake of Jeff’s kiss, swept away by a probing tongue and clacking teeth.  Jeff’s hand gripping his neck, holding him in place and all Jared could do was shiver and groan.  Two fingers probing, thrusting, then three and Jared whined into the mouth that was kissing him, his ass throbbing, he could feel his pulse beating there, everything centered around how open and needy he was.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Jeff soothed and Jared whimpered and fucked down on the fingers inside him.  It felt so good, so good.  If he hadn’t had his fists buried in the sheets, he would have used his hands to hold himself open, spread his cheeks wide. The fingers suddenly drifted away, no longer pushing inside, but back to that initial stroking around the outside, and Jared grumbled at the loss, shifting his hips.

Suddenly there was blunt pressure against his rim, broader and smoother than fingers.  He had been half-asleep and now he was more alert, frowning.  It was a cock.  The tip of Jeff’s dick, blood-hot, pressing against his opening, slick and inevitable, pushing for entrance.

“Jeff,” Jared complained, shifting his hips, wanting it and yet not wanting it, gut aching with the need to push down, to let it in.  It was distant, abstract, but in his mind was the idea that he’d only done this with one person, it was sacred, precious, even as some part of him laughed derisively at the idea.  He thought about condoms, about Jeff’s dick big and raw and already partially inside him. “No.  No, Jeff.”

“Try for Daddy,” Jeff whispered and Jared groaned.  It was sliding in, big and burning and Jared writhed on Jeff’s cock, not sure if he was trying to avoid it or welcoming it in.  Jeff gripped Jared’s hips, tugging him down, arching his hips up.  Then it was in Jared, spearing him open and he wailed, pushing down on it hard, taking it as deep as he could.  Below him, Jeff gave a low, satisfied moan.

“That’s a good boy,” Jeff whispered.  His fingers were digging into Jared’s hips, bruisingly hard, but it was Jared who was shoving himself down, mashing their pelvises together, rolling his hips. “Yeah, push yourself on my cock.”

“Oh.  Oh!”

“Sit up, baby,” Jeff said and his hands were urging Jared into a more upright position, helping support him as he wobbled dazedly. The new position had Jeff’s dick rubbing deep inside Jared’s ass, setting off sparks, making him moan. “Go ahead and ride.  Make yourself feel good.”

“Oh.  Oh, fuck.”

“C’mon, baby.  Ride me.  Take Daddy deep.”

In the dark, balance off and mind full of static, Jared arched his back and rode.  Jeff egged him on, fingers gripping his hips tight, rising up to meet Jared’s strokes.  The sick surge in Jared’s stomach, that _bad-good-yes-no_ that had settled there, was urging him on as well.  There was no time, no place, no one else.  Just Jared and that cock inside him, pleasure with each hard, sharp thrust.  Jeff was there, but far away, laying back on the pillows.

“What do you need, baby?”

“Mm,” Jared moaned, rocking his hips.  A delicious spike of pleasure with each thrust.  What did he need?  What even was the question?

“Tell me.  Tell me what you want.”

My neck, Jared thought.  It wouldn’t take much effort, to topple back down onto Jeff, to press his chest to the older man’s.  He wanted a mouth at his throat, teeth sinking into the muscle there.  Jensen.  Jensen biting and licking and sucking at his flesh.  Jensen making a meal of him.

“No,” Jared whispered, and then moaned louder when Jeff thrust his hips up.  Jeff, it was Jeff fucking him, and Jared wiggled, made an abortive attempt to pull away, to lift himself off.  Jeff’s hands clamped down, one on his hip, the other moving to knead one of Jared’s ass cheeks and Jared sobbed, his hips humping down, chasing the feeling.

“God, Oh, Jeff, please.”

“C’mon.”

“Please.  Please, Jeff.”

“Tell Daddy what you want,” Jeff persisted, hands drifting up to Jared’s shoulders, tugging him into each heave of his hips, the sound of wet flesh smacking together become loud in the room, scent of sex drifting up to perfume the room.

“No,” Jared whined, pushing his legs father open, shaking his head.  He would, he wouldn’t ask for that.  It was private.  It was something secret and shameful he liked, something he hadn’t even known he was into prior, and he’d only shared that secret with one other person.

“Fuck.  Fuck!” Jared moaned, still shaking his head, and then there was a hand on his throat, collaring his neck, the grip forceful.  Jared hadn’t said, but Jeff was no idiot.  Jared’s hotspots were easy enough to calculate.  One hand on Jared’s neck, the other gripping Jared’s ass, long fingers delving into the crease, and an explosion was building in Jared’s trembling gut.  He shivered and shook, his hips rocking faster and faster, seeking completion.

“Come for Daddy.”

“Oh, oh!  I’m coming, I’m coming!”

“Say it!  Call me Daddy,” Jeff commanded, pressing his hand against Jared’s windpipe, making him breathing thready.

“Fuck!  Daddy, Daddy! Coming, Daddy!”

It thundered through him, starting low and spreading out through his limbs, making his cock jerk and paint Jeff’s belly in the darkness.  Jared shrieked, humping Jeff’s cock, trembling, groaning.  Beneath him, Jeff let out his own loud moan, hands punishingly tight, and then suddenly limp.  Jared shivered all over and then toppled onto his side, cock inside him sliding out with a wet squelch.  He laid there, muscles twitching involuntarily, ass aching and wet and open.  He felt tired, so, so tired suddenly.  He had come and it was good and it was over and he wanted to sleep.

“Good boy,” someone whispered and there were warm arms pulling him tight.  Wrong smell but not bad, pleasant, familiar.  Jeff.  It wasn’t right but he was warm and relaxed and pleasured and so it was okay.

There were many meaningless endearments whispered into Jared’s ear as Jeff cuddled him close and arranged the younger man’s body in his arms.  Soft, petting stokes of Jared’s arms and shoulders, wet kisses to his neck and ears.

But none of those words or gentle touches registered.  Jared’s eyes were closed tight, his breathing even, and he slept deep.


	14. Doesn't Play Well With Others

Tim paced the breezeway between the main house and the expansive garage that housed Jeff’s fleet of vehicle, walking tiredly back and forth across the sheltered stretch of grass and stone.  There was a lit cigarette dangling between his fingers—bummed from Speight—although he hadn’t smoked in years.  It was a weakness of character in Tim’s mind, and also the smell was distinctive, revealing one’s location on covert operations.  But now he was haphazardly smoking and pacing and neither one was helping to quiet his troubled mind.  He was tired, bone tired, but he hadn’t gone to bed and the sun had already risen.  He was too worried to sleep at any rate.

He’d arrived back at the house in the middle of the night and had headed straight to Jeff’s room to talk to him about the situation with Jensen.  He desperately wished that he hadn’t. Jeff was an erratic sleeper, to bed late and up early, and it wasn’t uncommon for Tim to find him up in his room working or reading at odd hours.

He hadn’t been working last night.

The sounds coming from the bedroom had been obscene, Jared’s voice rising in wails that to Tim’s ear sounded both pleasurable and distressed and he had pressed his fingernails so deeply into his palms he had near drew blood.

The kid wasn’t his.  It wasn’t any of his business.  No matter how reluctant or conflicted Jared might be about the encounter, Jeff was a generous lover—Tim had walked in on him often enough to know, the man was like a tomcat—and he wouldn’t hurt the kid.  And even if that was Jeff’s thing—pain in the bedroom—Tim answered to Jeff.  Fantasies about storming in like some rescuing hero had no place here, and the fact that Tim had briefly entertained such a fantasy made him uneasy.

Jared’s well-being was a minor issue, Tim reminded himself yet again, as he stamped out his half-smoked cigarette and headed into the house.  There were bigger concerns, much bigger.  He rubbed his tired eyes, then pressed his fingers to his temples, massaging.  He felt distracted, unfocused, and he disliked the sensation. He should just stay out of it.  The emotions that swirled around the situation with Jared were complex: protectiveness and concern and not a small amount of jealousy.

There was a murmur of voices coming from Alaina’s downstairs office and Tim turned on his heel, approaching the room, his resolution to stay out of it quickly forgotten.

“Hah! My new cookbook arrived.” Misha’s voice.

Alaina’s voice drifted out the open door, sounding derisive. “How many cookbooks do you need?”

“How is that even a question?  Look, look at the glorious cover!”

“Who’s the blonde bitch on the front with all the vegetables?”

“Who’s the…who?! Seriously? Were you raised in a nuclear bunker?”

“I’m _not_ eating eggplant.”

Tim pushed the door open, letting it smack back against the wall.  Two heads popped up from their work as he strode in.

"Sure heard a lot of loud moaning last night," Alaina said innocently as Tim walked into her home office.  She was sitting at her desk and she arched a sharp brow and smiled at him, cracking her long fingers over the keyboard of her sleek, silver laptop.

"Sorry about that," Misha said from floor.  He was sitting at Alaina’s feet, surrounded by mail and packages. He used a pearl-handled letter opener to slit open an envelope. "I was looking over the new catalogue of food rehydrators--ow!" He winced as Alaina cuffed him lightly on the back of the head.

"Be quiet, Misha," Alaina said but she reached out, stroking the spot she'd just smacked. She looked at Tim expectantly.

"What do you want me to say?" Tim asked, frowning.  Alaina’s room was far enough away from Jeff’s that she shouldn’t have been able to hear anything.  You’d have to be standing right in front of the door, as Tim had been last night.  But Alaina kept her fingers on the pulse of the household.  Of course she knew everything.  After all, she’d engineered it all.

"Nothing really. I'm just gloating."

"Gloating over sticking a knife in Jeff's back? I thought one of his kids breaking his heart was enough."

Alaina snapped out of her seat and strode to the window.  Looking out on the green expanse beyond the glazed glass, she shrugged carelessly, but her shoulders were hunched.  She looked young, a lot like the skinny girl Jeff had brought home, arm in a cast and murder in her eyes.

"I'm not breaking anyone's heart. Dad's happy.  He's sleeping in this morning, most deservedly, I'd say."

"Alaina," Tim said, drifting closer, "Don't you ever stop to think about the consequences of your actions?"

"Don't be patronizing. I'm ten steps ahead of you, Tim."

"What was the point of all this? Making sure Jeff took Jared to bed? Protecting Jared?"

Alaina laughed harshly enough that Tim took an involuntary step back. "I don't give a fuck about Jared.  You’re projecting.  It’s gotten beyond pathetic, don’t you think?"

"This is about revenge then," Tim sighed, not bothering to acknowledge the truth of Alaina’s words. "It's not about Jeff or Jared. It's about this ridiculous feud with Jensen."

"Duh."

"Isn't it enough that he hasn't come back to the house? Jeff misses him."

"No.  It’s not enough. It's never enough," Alaina said angrily.  She brought one sharply manicured nail to her mouth and gnawed at the tip. 

"And it doesn't matter who gets hurt along the way, as long as you win?"

"Oh for God's sake, you hypocritical ass, I'm not hurting Jeff. I just gave him a present.  A needy slut to coo over.  Just the kind he likes. He's never looked happier."

"You told Misha to poison Jared."

"I said I was sorry!" Misha protested from the floor.

"Shut up, Misha."

"Jeff likes a sob story," Alaina confirmed, shrugging. "I mean, Jared’s pretty tragic just standing around breathing, but I decided to stack the deck a bit.  Damsel in distress.  Let Jeff swoop in like Florence Nightingale, distract him from this bullshit Jensen has put him through. So I put an emetic in the milk."

"You made him throw up," Tim confirmed. 

"He was supposed to make it to the bathroom," Alaina said. She looked down at Misha, blue eyes narrowed. "Drug interactions are a bitch."

"For the last time, I _said_ I was sorry," Misha retorted, having gotten off the floor and climbed into Alaina's chair. "I have ADHD! There is a medical reason--"

"Nobody cares," Tim interrupted. "Honestly, Alaina, this scheme is childish. How is Jeff supposed to feel when he has to give Jared back?"

"That doesn't really matter."

“You think you’re not hurting Jeff, but when he has to give the boy up—“

“Dad’s got a short attention span,” Alaina interrupted. “He’ll have his fun.  A lot of fun, from the sound of last night. By the time this all gets sorted out he should be ready for someone new.  I mean let’s be real, he’s not got the disposition for a long-term relationship.”

"And how is Jensen supposed to feel when he gets back and learns what happened?!"

"There you go, Tim," Alaina said, tapping a finger to the tip of her pert nose. "Bingo."

"Alaina..."

"Do you know how difficult it is to hurt someone who doesn't care about anything or anyone?"

"I'm sure Jensen cares a great deal for Jeff--"

"No he doesn't. Oh, he knows he's supposed to. He can play the part.  But he’s a robot, mimicking human feelings.  You know it, I know it."

"Jared--"

"Yes." Alaina looked at Tim expectantly and then sighed. "Do I have to spell it out for you?"

"This will absolutely ruin any chance of Jeff and Jensen reconciling."

"See, you can use your brain, Tim," Alaina said pleasantly. "I just took the one person in the world Jensen cares about and gave him to Jeff.  There’s nothing else, no person, no material item he cares about.  But he killed for Jared.  He lost control for him. And I took his precious, new toy and let someone else dirty it up."

"You're going to make Jared choose--"

"Why are you making this all about that dumb, scared kid?" Alaina asked, rolling her eyes. "You don't get it. It doesn't matter who Jared ends up with, where he ends up. Whether he goes back to the Pellegrinos or goes to Jensen, or whether Jeff keeps him. And we know Jeff won't keep him, not if Jensen wants him. What matters is that Jensen will _never_ come back here after this. Not for any reason."

"I can't believe you'd do that to Jeff," Tim said quietly. "He loves you both."

"Only one of us loves him back," Alaina replied, voice trembling. "Only one of us stayed, and yes this part is petty, but it was better before Jensen came. And it's been better since he's been gone. Jeff has me to help him run the business. Jensen never cared, not about that, not about Jeff, not about anything."

“It didn’t have to be this way,” Tim said.

“What I don’t get is why you and Jeff care about him,” Alaina said angrily. “He doesn’t care about you.  What makes him so special?”

“You don’t choose who you love.”

“What has he ever done for you?”

Tim frowned. “Is that how you think love is measured?  By what people do for you?”

“I’m breaking my back working for Jeff—“

“He never asked you to!” Tim exclaimed. “You could have chosen your own path, whatever you wanted to do he would have supported, you know that.  Or done nothing!  You could have spent your days getting high by the pool and it still would have been okay. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone!”

“Apparently not,” Alaina sneered. “Apparently, I can be a raging psychopath and I still get hugs and kisses from Daddy.  I swear, you and Jeff are like those stupid idiots who insist on owning a cat.  Like, ‘hey, here’s this animal that scratches the shit out of me and keeps me up all night and would eat my face it I died, let’s love it forever!’”

“I don’t like cats, either,” Tim said drily, a hint of a smile on his face.

“I love cats,” Misha said.

“Shut up, Misha!”

“Love doesn’t work that way,” Tim said.  He reached out to touch her shoulder, but Alaina jerked away. He sighed. “I helped raise you both.  I’ve never understood why you had to make everything a competition.  There was always enough for both of you to share.”

“Well, I don’t like to share,” Alaina retorted. “And now I’ve made sure I don’t have to.”

Tim watched her leave the room. Then he looked at Misha sitting at the desk. Misha had one hand propping up his sharp chin as he stared at the laptop screen, eyes far away.

"You should have brought this to me," Tim said.

Misha blinked his eyes, rousing to attention. "You don't have to live here. I do."

"Your loyalty should be to Jeff."

"My loyalty is to whoever is going to make my life easiest," Misha replied, standing up and rolling his shoulders. He headed for the door, side-stepping gingerly around Tim. "That's just how it is. I'm sorry. I do think it's going to work itself out.  Things have a way of falling into place, you know.  It’s the balance in the universe."

Tim turned and reached out, balling up the front of Misha's shirt in his fist and raising the other man up on his tiptoes. "I've never liked you, Misha."

"Yeah," Misha said, swallowing hard. "I get that a lot."

"I will be beyond relieved when Dima Krushnic crawls out of whatever hole he's hidden himself in and comes to kill you."

"Ah, my first boss," Misha said, voice wavering. "Gee, Tim, it kinda sounds like you don't want me to survive."

"It could go either way and I'd sleep just fine," Tim said. He let go of Misha's shirt, shook out his hand, and left the room. 


	15. Make A Liar Out of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Jeff/Jared dub-con goodness, fyi. Tags have been updated.  
> Also, this is chapter is as close to a threesome as Jeff/Jensen/Jared will get in this story.

Jared woke up to warm, wet suckling on the head of his cock.  He groaned, stomach quivering, his pelvis pressing up against the strong hands gripping his hips and holding him down.  Dazedly, he lifted his head off the pillow and looked down his own body at the golden head bobbing between his thighs.

Jensen pulled his mouth away with a lewd, smacking sound, lips puffy and blood-flushed.  He smiled. 

"What are you doing here?" Jared panted.

"'What am I doing here?' he asks," Jensen replied with an affectionate eye roll. "I'll give you three guesses."

"You..."

"It's awfully hard to think with all the blood rushing away from your brain," Jensen said and rubbed his cheek against the sensitive skin of Jared's inner thigh.  The scratch-tickle of Jensen's stubbly jaw against his flesh sent chills all the way down to Jared’s toes. It felt rougher than Jared had expected.  When Jensen looked up, the graceful plane of his cheek looked golden smooth and freshly shaved, incongruous to how it felt and Jared blinked in confusion.

“What?”

“I'm making you feel good," Jensen replied and poked his tongue out obscenely, swirling it around the tip of Jared’s aching cock.  It felt amazing. He groaned.

“You….you never did this,” Jared whispered weakly.  He let his head fall back on the pillow, tossing it from side to side, as Jensen continued to swab and lap at Jared’s dick.

“Nope,” Jensen said, voice clear despite his laving tongue, and Jared looked down again.  Jensen was smiling up at him, teeth white against the red of his flushed lips.  The licking continued however, and Jared shifted, aroused, confused.

“Are you here?” Jared asked.  He somehow already knew the answer, and it made him sad.

“If I was here,” Jensen answered, continuing his phantom tongue bath. “I wouldn't do it this way, would I?”

It was sweet.  Tender. Gentle.  No, it wasn't the type of touching Jared associated with Jensen.  And even as good as it was, Jared could feel something missing.  It wasn't enough; it wasn't fully what Jared wanted.  Suddenly the licking turned into firm, whole-hearted sucking, Jared’s cock drawn in to a warm, wet mouth.

“If this was me,” Jensen continued, smiling slightly, even as Jared’s cock was being swallowed whole, “I'd do it differently.  First, you'd be tied down, restrained.  Your thighs spread open, your whole body offered up to me.  Doesn't that sound good?”

“Please,” Jared begged.

“Secondly, I wouldn't be so damn sweet to you,” Jensen said and Jared moaned louder, his hips pumping up into the wet heat of someone else’s suckling mouth.  Jensen was here but he was not here, that much his dizzy brain could understand. “"You wouldn't get your dick in my mouth until your thighs were black and blue.  Nail marks all down that creamy skin. Until you could see an imprint of my teeth on nearly even inch of your skin, from hip to knee.”

“Bite me,” Jared moaned and then jerked when he felt the mouth leave his cock, leaving him shivering a bit, cold without that suction.  Teeth tenderly nibbled across his stomach.  Too gentle, not enough.

Jensen laughed. “He doesn't know how you like it.”

“You don't know how I like it,” Jared countered. “"You never did this for me.”

Shrugging, Jensen smiled his shark’s smile. “"I would have figured it out.  I can read you, baby. Like you were made for me.  My boy.  My slave. I would have made you scream.”

“Baby,” someone murmured, voice close by.  The sucking resumed, strong and insistent.  Jared’s toes curled.  He was so close.

“You're going to come for him,” Jensen hissed.  His face was suddenly inches from Jared’s own, eyes big and green-gold.  Jared shifted uneasily, his stomach clenching as his orgasm rose up and up.

“I'm sorry,” he gasped.  The dream shattered and then he shattered and he was coming, coming in Jeff’s mouth. 

 Jared groaned, bleary eyes open now and locked on Jeff’s dark gaze, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes, as Jeff smiled around Jared’s spasming cock.

“Good morning,” Jeff murmured once his mouth was no longer full.  He gave Jared a tender smile, lips shiny and wet.  Jeff was lying between Jared’s legs, broad and darkly naked and Jared blinked rapidly, trying to connect the dots.  His body was coming awake, and he was aware of more than just the wet, spent nature of his cock.  His head was pounding slightly, his gut roiling.  He shifted, feeling hungover, nauseous, and his ass twinged.  It was raw, open and he felt a pulse of wetness slither down the crease of his ass, dampening the sheet beneath him.

“Did we fuck?” Jared asked hoarsely.  The skin around his mouth and all down his neck felt irritated, hot.  Beard burn. “Did we?”

Jesus, he was in denial.  How much evidence did he need?

Jeff was frowning. “Of course.”

“I was asleep.”

“No, you weren't.”

“Yes, I was. I was asleep.”

Jeff frowned even deeper. “You were awake. You were pretty into it.”

“I need to throw up,” Jared mumbled and he was stumbling off the bed and sprinting shakily to the bathroom.

Jared vomited until nothing but bile came up.  He was disgusted on several levels, heart pounding, and he didn’t even swallow his groan when Jeff came up next to him, swiping the sweat-darkened strands of Jared’s hair away from his cheeks.

“Stop,” Jared groaned.

“Shush.  You’re okay.  Just too much to drink.” 

Already in full nurture mode, Jeff blotted Jared’s hot face with a cool, wet washcloth.  It felt amazing, but Jared batted at it weakly, turning his face away.

“Leave me alone.”

“Not going to happen,” Jeff said firmly.

“I want a shower.  I want to brush my teeth.”  There were other things Jared wanted, but he left them unsaid.  His ass and the back of his thighs felt filthy.

As if he could read Jared’s mind, Jeff swiped firmly at Jared’s ass with the washcloth.

“Don’t.”

“Let’s just get you cleaned up a little bit and then back into bed,” Jeff coaxed.  He put his hand under Jared’s elbow, and Jared cursed, shoving away from Jeff and wobbling to his feet.

“No.”

“Jared—“

“I said, _no_!”

“It’s not up to you,” Jeff reminded him.

“Yeah, that’s perfectly clear!” Jared shouted.  His voice rang startlingly loud against the tiled walls.

Jeff folded his arms, comfortable in his nudity. “What’s your problem?”

“You don’t just get to do that!”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what your problem is.  We fell into bed and we had a good time.  I was hoping for more of the same before you started freaking out.  I wake you up with a blow job and you act like I’m a monster.  I don’t get you.”

“I didn’t want it!” Jared’s lip trembled.  Humiliatingly enough, he felt his eyes filling with tears. 

“Oh boo hoo,” Jeff snorted. “Jeff gave me head, what a terrible person.”

It was enough.  Ill-advised as it may be, Jared threw a punch.  It was clumsy, and Jeff dodged it easily, letting out a sharp shout.   The struggle was brief and Jared ended up face down on the floor, Jeff on top of him, one arm twisted behind his back.

“You’re a rapist,” Jared growled into the carpet.

“I don’t appreciate that,” Jeff said mildly. “I don’t even think you mean it.  It’s just your way of dodging personal responsibility.”

“This is my fault?”

“You’ve spent the short time I’ve known you either flirting with me or eye-fucking me,” Jeff answered. ”You get a little drunk, you get a little loose.  Now you’re regretting it.  That’s fine.  But don’t blame me.  The way I see it, we both went into this with our eyes open.  It’s not we didn’t know that this was inevitable.”

The way Jeff saw it was a painful truth.  Jared suspected he had known he was going to end up here, in Jeff’s bed in more way than one.  Had he been dreading it, craving it?  He didn’t know.  He couldn’t even remember what it had been like.  No memory of the experience.  Just the sticky, broke-open aftermath.

“No,” Jared whispered.

“We were good together,” Jeff said, still as unflappable as ever and Jared tested the grip Jeff had on his elbow, cursing under his breath as Jeff’s hand painfully tightened.

“No, you asshole.”

“Lie still.”

“Just let me up,” Jared said.

“No,” Jeff said. “I sucked your cock and you tried to punch me in the face, called me names.  I figure you’ve earned a punishment.”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Jeff answered, amused. “But first things first.  You’re going to act like a child, whine and cry like a child?  Then you get spanked like a child.”

Jared’s heart sank.  He struggled on the floor. “No.  Jeff, no!”

It was fast.  Jeff was up off the floor and next to Jared in seconds, hand still tight on his elbow.  Jared pushed against the floor, trying to lever up, and Jeff planted a knee in the small of the younger man’s back, holding him down.

“I won’t even make you count,” Jeff said and then his hand swung down. 

Jared heard the crack even as red flashed behind his eyelids.  It stung, of course, but it wasn’t brutally violent.  The next smack came, opposite cheek, same level of force.  Humiliating and stinging, awful in a way that a harder blow wouldn’t have been.  Shifting against the floor, Jared felt his skin heat up and choked down a curse. 

It was starting to feel good.

Jared buried his face in the carpet, let it swallow his tears and his moans.  Jeff spanked methodically, one cheek and then the other, a steady rhythm that brought delicious heat to Jared’s skin, kindled a fire in his gut.  He could feel himself growing hard, mashed against the floor, as he writhed under Jeff’s hands.  It went on until Jared was mouthing at the carpet, his hips rising and falling.  Somewhere there was anger and embarrassment, but it had been pushed aside by thrumming need.

“I’m done,” Jeff said finally and Jared sobbed, not sure if it was in relief or disappointment. “Of course, I’m not sure if that was exactly a punishment, given the way you responded.”  He drew a rough, hot hand down the abused skin of Jared’s ass, and Jared moaned loudly, unable to stop himself.

“So, here’s part two,” Jeff said, still petting Jared’s flesh. “I’m going to make a liar out of you.  Up on your knees.”

“Let me go,” Jared whispered, shivering.

“Come on.  Up!”  There was pressure on his elbow, and Jared found himself struggling to his knees, face flaming.  He stared down at the carpet, at the dark, wet patch left by his spit and tears.  He blinked rapidly, tensing all over, as Jeff maneuvered behind him.  Then he gasped as Jeff bent his head and pressed his tongue against Jared’s puffy, slick hole.

“Oh God!”

Jeff knew how to eat an ass, Jared thought dazedly, as the other man attacked his hole with lips and tongue, lapping sloppily and mouthing at the rim.  It was an overload of sensation, the bristle-brush scrape of Jeff’s beard, the hot probing of his tongue, the wet press of his lips.  Jared felt himself spreading his thighs wider, tilting his ass up, offering himself to Jeff’s mouth.  One of Jeff’s hands gripped Jared’s elbow warningly, but the other hand was occupied, still stroking at Jared’s ass.  Suddenly, two fingers speared inside him, spreading him, and Jared wailed when he felt Jeff’s tongue press between those two thick fingers, fucking him rhythmically with that slick muscle.  He could have screamed when he finally felt Jeff draw away.

“So,” Jeff said quietly in the space between Jared’s moans.  He released Jared’s elbow and Jared put his forearm down on the carpet to brace himself shakily.  There was the sharp report of Jeff spitting repeatedly, then the slick slapping of Jeff jacking his own saliva-wet dick. “So.”

“So,” Jared mumbled, arching his hips up.  He groaned when he felt Jeff line up, the swollen head of his cock spreading open his rim, lingering at the entrance.

“You gonna tell me to stop?”

“No,” Jared whispered, unbearably turned on and humiliated, and then Jeff was pushing inside.

It was rough, raw.  Some of it, Jared thought, might have been soreness from the night before.  Some of it was the lack of lubrication, Jeff fucking in on only his own saliva and whatever he’d left in Jared’s ass the night before.  The friction burned, even as it lit a path of heat up Jared’s spine.  He squeezed his eyes shut, wanting it and hating it both, and fucked back onto Jeff’s cock.

“This what you wanted?” Jeff panted, swiveling his hips. “Are you saying ‘no’ now?”

“No, Jeff.  Oh, God!”

“Tell me harder.  Tell me you want it harder, baby.”

“Fuck me, Jeff,” Jared sobbed. “Fuck me harder.”

Jeff’s grunts rose over the wet, slapping sounds of him pummeling Jared’s ass.  He reached down with one hand, wrapped it around Jared’s cock and jerked it quick and rough.  His hand was hot and dry and the friction was just as nasty as the slide of his dick in Jared’s ass.  It built and built until Jared was wailing again, dick spurting painfully and then Jeff gave a shout, shooting his load deep inside Jared’s ass.

Sobbing, Jared collapsed down into the carpet, his whole body shaking.  Jeff’s dick slid out of his ass, leaving it feeling wet and open and filthier than before.  Jared bit down on his lip, stifling his cries.  He felt dirty inside and out.  It had felt so good, so satisfyingly wrong.  He didn’t know what to think, or how to feel.

“I think we can safely say what was what last night,” Jeff said breathlessly.  He groaned a bit as he swung from his knees onto his ass, sitting beside Jared. “Don’t you agree?”

Jared turned his head.  Jeff was smiling down at him.  His nose, mouth and chin were slick and shiny.

“You could have used a condom,” Jared said quietly.

“I don’t have any.  I don’t like them.”

“I feel awful,” Jared said, burying his face into the carpet.

“Don’t over think it,” Jeff said affectionately, tousling Jared’s hair. “It’s cute, that you feel guilty, like you’re cheating on Jensen.  You shouldn’t worry about it.  I know my son.  He’s never been the jealous type.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: I have absolutely no interest in indulging anyone who comes to leave a comment on this story with the motivation of kink-shaming me or the other readers. Comments of this nature will be deleted. Everything is clearly tagged and like another commenter mentioned, this is THE THIRD INSTALLMENT of this series. Please return to the depths of Tumblr to continue your wank with other people who demand political correctness in a work of fantasy. Kisses!


	16. What's the Catch?

"I wanted to talk to you," Misha said, hovering at the doorway, looking even more cagey than usual. "You didn't come down to breakfast. I thought I might bring you some food but...you okay?"

"No."

"Dare I even ask what's happened now?"

"No," Jared said again, wearily.  He was sitting on the floor near the balcony doors, clad in his borrowed sweats.  One of them was slightly ajar, a delicate breeze blowing fresh air into the room.  It was as close to outside as Jared was going to get today.  Maybe ever.

"Uh, so what happened?" Misha shrugged unashamedly under the force of Jared's glare. "I'm nosy, we've established this."

"I'm a whore."

"Beg pardon?"

"You heard me."

"Are you talking about the fact that you slept with Jeff?" Misha asked. "He came down to breakfast whistling. Sickeningly cheerful. Must have been some night."

Jared looked away.

"O-kay," Misha said.  He sauntered over to the balcony doors, then leaned one shoulder against the glass. "So, how much did you get?"

"What?"

"Whores make money, Jared," Misha said patiently, as if explaining to a child. "So how much?"

"I--"

"Did you ever get that back pay you were owed? Hazard pay? A bonus?”

“Fine, you made your point,” Jared sighed, not wanting to discuss it. “I’m too stupid to even set a good price.  My fee is forced room and board.”

“You’re not stupid,” Misha replied. “I mean, you’ve kind of been a dummy about this whole situation.  If you were being smart you would have seduced everyone in the damned house.  Twisted them around your little finger and made them work for you.  Tim.  Alaina.  Jeff.”

“You?”

“You’re actually not my type,” Misha responded and grinned. “I warned you yesterday.  If you have to give it up anyway, at least get something for it.  Get Jeff on your side.  That’s what I would have done.”

“I didn’t have to give it up,” Jared muttered. “And I got so damn drunk last night…”

“Yes.  And clearly it’s all your fault.  Shouldn’t have been drinking.”

Confused at Misha’s solemn tone, Jared quirked an eyebrow in question.

“That’s some frat boy logic,” Misha continued. “I mean, if you happened upon me in an inebriated state, what would you have done?  Drawn a dick on my face?  Peed on me?  Put your dick in my mouth?”

“No!” Jared exclaimed, repulsed.

“Because you’re a good person,” Misha said. “Good people don’t take advantage of drunks.”

“Are you saying Jeff is a bad person?” Jared asked sarcastically. “I’m some sad, little victim? I can take care of myself.”

Misha settled on the floor next to Jared.

“You can.  Shit, you’re big enough.  But you seem to not be a fan of violence.”

Jared grimaced. “I didn’t even try to fight back.”

“Also some frat boy logic,” Misha commented, rubbing his dark curls. “It’s sex.  Not combat.  Why would you need to fight?”

Jared looked away.

“Stop blaming yourself,” Misha said softly. “Jeez, I didn’t think I was going to end up being your ill-prepared counselor.  This is not why I came up here.  Stop beating yourself up.”

“Make me,” Jared sneered, feeling even angrier.

“Not my style. What I’m saying is maybe you should accept the fact that you’re in an extraordinary situation.  Think, Jared. Think about what you know about Jeff.  Who he is..."

“I told him he was hot,” Jared muttered.

“Duh.  He is hot.  That’s not my point.”

“I wanted it, okay,” Jared snapped, frustrated.  He had a hangover and the conversation was making him feel worse, not better. “Why are we even talking about it?  I wanted it.”

“You said ‘yes’?”

“I don’t…I don’t know what I said.”

"Okay.  So just listen. What do you think would have happened if you'd told Jeff 'no'? Clear communication, no crossed wires or mixed messages.  No alcohol involved.  If you didn't find him attractive on some level.  Just straight up, _no thank you, sir_. What would he have done?"

"I don't know."

"I do. He would have done what he wanted. So you took back control, made it seemed like it was what you wanted, at least a bit. That you had a choice."

"Then why do I feel terrible?"

"Because you didn't have a choice. On some level, you've always known that."

Jared snorted. "That's a circular argument.”

"It's a circular situation," Misha countered. “You didn’t want it but you pretended you did so it wouldn’t be so awful but you still knew it wasn’t what you wanted so you felt awful anyway.”

“Ow.  That hurts my head.”

“That’s the red wine.”

“No, that’s you.” Jared cracked a small smile.

“This is not what I came to talk to you about.”

“More schemes from Alaina?”

“No.” Misha hesitated. “I have a plan.  A plan to get out.  You and me.  Today.”

“Convenient,” Jared replied, leaning his aching head against the cool glass of the window.

“Man, I’d ask how you came to be so cynical, but I’ve got a front row seat to this train wreck.  Look, I’ve had this plan for a while.  It’s not particularly crafty or clever; actually it’s so straightforward it’s idiotic.  But I think it will work.  If you’re up for the risk, come with me.”

“Lay it on me,” Jared said.

“I’m going to the farmer’s market with Matt.  Like I always do.  This time you come with.  Walk out of the house and get in the car.  We drive towards freedom, or out of the state, whatever.”

“That’s your plan,” Jared said, raising his eyebrows. “Are we murdering Matt on the way out or what?”

“Matt’s on my side,” Misha said and smiled a small, private smile. “See, he’s a good guy.  Loyal.  Trustworthy.  No murder required.”

“Why didn’t you do this before?”

“I didn’t have any leverage before.  A way to keep them from coming after me, after us.  You gave me that last night when you told me Alaina’s computer password.”

“I what?!”

“Wow, you must have been fucked up,” Misha said, grinning. “You told me her computer password.  Which she changes weekly and is very protective of.  That laptop doesn’t even have internet connectivity, so I couldn’t even try to hack it remotely.”

“You’re a hacker? They teach that at the Cordon Bleu?”

“No,” Misha snorted. “And Jeff won’t even let me have a cell phone.  Matt’s been working on this for me for a while.  You provided the last piece, I got some dirt last night, and now I’m sure they won’t be able to come after us.  Not for a while, anyway.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Oh my God, drop the sarcasm or I’m not going to let you come with me!”

“Sorry,” Jared muttered.  It hurt, that feeling of hope, so much that he didn’t even want to entertain it.  Being optimistic hadn’t gotten him anywhere good.  Better to squash it down, forget about it.  Get over being hurt about Jeff and just enjoy what he could—suppress the feeling of awfulness, now that Misha had named it, identified it—and hang out on his back or his knees until decisions were made.  Also, the plan sounded…strange.  Too easy.  There had to be a catch, but if there was, Jared couldn’t see it.

There was that tiny flutter of excitement in his gut.  Shit, he was going to try.  It was probably going to get cocked up, and something terrible would happen, but still.  Jared could tell he was going to go for it. A sketchy choice that was somehow probably a trap—like everything else in his miserable life—was better than no choice at all.

“Okay, lay it out for me.”

Misha clapped his hands in excitement. “Okay!  Leaving at noon, be in the kitchen at that time.  Then it’s just a short walk across the courtyard and into the garage.  Voila!”

“Don’t say ‘voila’.  The garage, it’s outside?”

“It’s a short walk.”

“Shit,” Jared said, swallowing hard.  He already felt sweaty and dizzy with panic, on top of the hangover.  Outside.

“Yeah.  Um, I have a plan for that.  You’re probably not going to like it.”  Misha dug around in the pocket of his jeans and then held out his hand.  Two small pills sat on his palm.

“No way.”

“It’s just to calm you down!  I know I drugged you before but this time it’s more like you’re drugging yourself.  It’s cool!”

“Fuck.”

“Totally safe, I swear.  No weird interactions, I promise.” 

Jared numbly opened his palm and allowed Misha transfer the pills.

“Okay.  Take them fifteen or twenty minutes before you come downstairs.  It should chill you out enough to get you to the car.”

“What about Jeff?  Alaina?  Tim?  The other guards?”

“Tim’s out.  Left after he had a chat with Jeff, guess he’s still working on the mystery with Jensen.  Jeff will be working, unless he wants to sneak up here for a nooner.  In that case, suck his dick as quick as possible so we can get the fuck out, regardless of how you feel about it.  I’ve made sure Alaina will be occupied.  And as for the other guards, we have Matt.  We’re golden.”

“Flawless.”

“Probably not,” Misha grimaced. “It’s a risk, right?  It’s always a risk.  You in?”

“I’m in,” Jared said, suppressing a smile as Misha fist-pumped the air.

“Noon.  Kitchen.  Drugs. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Oh, by the way.” Misha dug into his other pocket, wrappers crinkling, and pulled up a packet of cookies. “I noticed you haven’t been too keen to eat since I, um, poisoned you. Here.”

Jared examined the cookies. “These from Jeff’s secret stash?”

“Secret stash!” Misha snorted. “No one keeps anything from me, not in this house.  I know all.  Anyway, the preservatives and artificial coloring is going to be terrible for you, but so is low blood sugar.”

“Thanks, Misha.”

“Hey,” Misha said and he reached out, gently putting a hand on Jared’s shoulder.  Despite everything, despite the fear that it was another betrayal, Jared felt his eyes tearing up at the small kindness.  Misha, the only person in the house that didn’t seem to want to get their hands on him. “It’s going to be okay.  We’re getting out.”

“Okay,” Jared said simply, looking away.

“You can rely on me,” Misha said, his tone completely unironic, and he stood up, dusting off the legs on his jeans. “It’s all going to work out.  Trust me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many farmer’s markets are running in this fictional town? Seven. Seven, one for every day of the week, and Misha has to visit them all.   
>  I realize that I have modeled this somewhat on the street markets in Paris, even though this story is set in the U.S. You can pretty much find a market open somewhere in Paris every day of the week. That’s a lot of kale.  
> Look, just let me have this.


	17. Your Pal Misha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing that last chapter was clearly a ruse. My goal this whole time has been to learn more about farmers markets on an international level. :D
> 
> "But what about Jensen? Where is he?"  
> "Hush. Tell me more about outdoor markets in Brazil."
> 
> Speaking of learning, please feel free to correct any mobster/law enforcement errors in the chapter if you see glaring discrepancies. My research style is "eh, what can I learn from Google in under 30 minutes" so mistakes can be expected.

Jared had never considered himself a very good liar. No, he'd been able to fool Jensen, once, but that had been because the other man hadn't been expecting it.  Jensen had been blindsided by arrogance and infatuation, his strong sense of mastery over Jared. Also, Jared suspected that his former Master might have had a bit of difficulty separating what he wanted from what Jared wanted.  Or maybe that was wistful thinking.  
Waiting upstairs in Jeff’s room, the hours clicked by slowly.  Better to let Jeff think he was stewing upstairs than try to wander the house with a placid expression on his face, hiding his nerves and sweat.  Jared thought about what he might need to do to prepare, what he might bring, but it seemed even riskier than pretending everything was fine. At any rate, Jared had no money, and the pile of change on Jeff’s bureau top wasn't going to get them far.  He riffled through a few drawers, found some watches and jewelry, but left it all where it was. Whatever he may be, he wasn't a thief.    
He thought he might take a pair of Jeff’s shoes, but none fit.  Fine then, broke and barefoot, he was going to be joining Misha on this harebrained escape with nothing to contribute.  He hoped Misha at least was better prepared.  He'd had enough time, goodness knew.  
The antique clock on Jeff’s nightstand read 11:40 when Jared finally got up to put his part of the plan in motion.  He went into the bathroom and stared at the mirror for a long while, trying to keep his eyes from skittering away, trying to foster his courage.  He put the pills on his tongue and tried to swallow them dry, coughing and gagging, before bending to gulp water from the tap.  Only a few days and he'd already forgotten how to take them waterless and with ease.  He drank again to get the bitter taste off his tongue, wiped his dripping mouth on the hem of his tight t-shirt, and walked out of the bathroom.  
He nearly swallowed his tongue.  
Jeff was standing in the doorway, smiling.  
“Hi,” Jeff said.  
“Hi.”  
“You okay?”  
“Hungover,” Jared replied, knowing he didn't even have to fake how white-faced and shaky he looked.  He climbed into the bed and ducked under the covers, shivering.  
“You should eat.  Would you like me to bring you something?” Jeff smoothed a fond hand over Jared’s sweaty forehead.  
“No! Um, no.  Misha did.  I threw it up.  I think I need to stick to water.” It wasn't a lie.  
“Poor baby. I have work, but I can stay for a bit if you want.”  
_No. No._ But Jared smiled weakly and said, “Can you get me a glass of water maybe? I want to sleep for a while, but I'm thirsty.”  
Jeff smiled wider. “Sure.”  
“Maybe another blanket?”  
“Of course.  Whatever you need.”  
Eventually, Jared ran out of things to ask Jeff for, but at least his ruse seemed to be working.  With each request, Jeff seemed to glow with pleasure.  He didn't seem to suspect a thing.  
“Should I stay?” Jeff asked finally, eyes dark and tender.  
_Just leave already_. “No. But maybe….do you have hot tub?”  
"Of course.”  
“Maybe we can, you know, use it, later.”  
Jeff’s smile grew wicked. “Later.” He planted a heated kiss on Jared’s neck, making him shiver.  
Rolling over, Jared feigned sleep.  For an interminable amount of time, Jeff stood over him, watching.  Then at last the older man sighed, caressed Jared’s cheek, and tiptoed from the room.  
Fucking finally.  Jared counted five minutes in his head, then flipped back the covers. Shit, he was late.  
He cracked open the door and peeked his head out.  The chair beside the door was occupied by Matt and Jared shied back as the other man’s head swiveled unerringly around, locking his clear, blue eyes on Jared. His usual friendly smile was absent.  
“Heading downstairs?”  
“Uh, yeah.”  
“Come on. Misha's in the kitchen.”  
Jared thought they might skulk, tiptoe, some sort of amateur cloak and dagger, but Matt stood, stretched with a yawn, and strode down the hall quickly.  He didn't give any indication that he was on Team Misha, which made Jared uneasy. Following after on silent bare feet, Jared kept his shoulders back and head up as he walked.  Reaching for “normal”, whatever that was these days.  
“Late!” Misha exclaimed as Jared stumbled in.  
“I know,” Jared answered, feeling both anxious and sleepy.  The drugs were kicking in, he supposed.  The panic was there, still simmering, but masked by a feeling of tiredness and lack of coordination. God, his whole body felt heavy. “Jeff came by. I had to get rid of him.”  
“How?”  
“Promises of sexy times in the hot tub later.” Jared drifted closer to kitchen windows, glancing out. He was anxious to go and dreading it.  Outside.  He could do this.  
"Good, good.” Misha rubbed his hands together. “Just follow me. Let's go.” Beside him, Matt gave a small nod, arms crossed.  
They were at the door before Jared’s mind could descend past the haze of the drugs into jibbering panic.  Misha stepped out first, then Jared, with Matt following behind.  Unable to stutter-step back into the shelter of the house, Jared stumbled out under the brassy, blue sky.  It wheeled a bit above him, and he dizzily dropped his eyes to the flagstone path.  
Misha took his arm. "Here."  
The rounded the corner of the house and Misha cursed when he nearly bumped into another body.  Looking up, Jared took in the man's spare frame, his whispy mustache, slicked-back hair, the cell phone that he was holding nearly in front of his face.  Another guard? Jared froze in fear.  
The man glanced up distractedly, thin lips pursed from sucking on something. "Oh hey, Misha. That time again, huh? Can you bring me back--what the fuck?!"  
"Matt!" Misha yelped and Matt stepped forward, jabbing the fingers in his hand into the small man's throat with one swift strike.  
The man gagged, dropped his phone, and clutched his throat.  His face turned an alarming shade of purple and he dropped to his knees, flailing.  
"Shit," Misha said.  
"I told Richard those lifesavers would be the death of him," Matt said.  Both men stared down at Richard's jerking body, faces impassive.  
"Hard candy.  It should be outlawed."  
"What flavor do you think's going to kill him? Cherry?"  
"My money's on butterscotch," Misha said, pulling his leg away from Richard's grasping hands. "Five bucks."  
"No real way to be sure."  
"We could check his pockets."  
"Jesus Christ, you guys!" Jared cried, startled out of his frozen state by the scene before him. "What is wrong with you!?"  
He wrenched the smaller man up from the ground and clumsily applied the Heimlich.  A few seconds later, a slimy, wet green candy was rocketing out of Richard's mouth and across the walkway.  
Misha sighed in disappointment. "Lime. Gross."  
"Give him here," Matt said and pulled Richard's trembling body out of Jared's arms.  He pulled his gun and snapped the butt of it against Richard's temple.  The smaller man crashed to the ground again.  
"Is he dead?" Misha asked.  
"No.  Why, did you want him to be?"  
"Well, I never liked him..." Misha trailed off when he saw Jared staring at him. "Hey, hey.  It's okay. Just a bit of dark humor.  He's fine.  Come on, let's let him wake up on his own. We need to go."  
They hurried across the courtyard and ducked into the garage.  There was a line of gleaming cars lined up, all well maintained and expensive.  
Misha paused by a shiny red one with a sigh. "I would love to take the Ferrari.  Too conspicuous. Better make it our usual, Matt."  
"Sure thing," Matt said and keyed in the code for the locked box on the wall, pulling open the door and selecting a key.  The car in question was sleek and black, a roomy sedan with tinted windows. Matt unlocked it and popped the trunk.  Misha crowded into Jared's space, making him tumble back against the side of the car.  
"Okay, this next part you're going to hate," Misha said. "Get in the trunk."  
"What?"  
We have to make it past the gate guard.  Rob always makes us roll down the windows for inspection.  The lack of trust is appalling."  
"Misha, I can't."  
This was all feeling more wrong by the moment.  Misha and Matt's callous treatment of the other guard, the almost flippant, "on holiday" tone in Misha's voice.  Jared tripped over his own feet trying to move back from the car.  
"I know you hate small spaces.  I'll open the center console in the back when I get in, let you get some light and some air."  
"No.  No, Misha, I can't!" Even with the drugs, Jared could feel terror coursing through his body.  He took another uncoordinated step away and bumped into the bulk of another body.  Matt was standing behind him and with one swift practiced move he jerked Jared around and shoved him into the trunk.  
They slammed the lid shut on his screaming.  
"Shit, he's loud," Misha said. "Jared, calm down."  
"Let me out fuck, let me out!"  
"Dammit," Misha muttered.  Jared screamed loud and long between his panting gasps for air.  He felt the car sink lower, two doors slam, and then Misha was popping open the console, letting in a gush of air-conditioned cool air and light from the car interior.  Shoving his face against the opening, Jared whined and panted. He was too big to fit through, not from lack of trying.  
"Better?"  
"God, let me out, I can't breathe."  
"You can.  Just be still. Matt, turn the air up, make it cold.  C'mon, just quiet down.  This part's the worst, I know."  
"Please."  
"When we get down the road you can switch to the front, okay. Don't blow this. It's about fifteen minutes and then you're out.  Surely you can handle fifteen minutes."  
"Okay," Jared whimpered, trying to control his breathing.  He kept his face pressed to the opening, looking out at the light.  
Misha looked regretful. "You know I'm going to need to close this for a while."  
"Don't!"  
"When we get to the gate, just before.  I need to know I can count on you.  Can you do it, Jared?"  
"O-okay."  
"Hold on."    
Matt put the car in gear and opened the garage door.  From his gap between the back seats, Jared watched the door go up to reveal the blue sky.  Then they were trundling down the driveway, the flagstones making the car shimmy a little.  There was a downhill tilt and then the gate and the guardhouse were in view.  
"Okay, Jared.  It's now.  Don't let me down." Misha pushed up on the console, and Jared, shuddering, pulled back into the recesses of the trunk.  
It was big, as far as trunks go.  Dark as pitch.  The carpeted interior was plush, and Jared dug his fingers into the fabric, trying not to stare at the lid of the trunk that was close, too close.  He panted, reaching for calm.  The drugs didn't seem to be helping.  He felt thick-tongued, awkward, tired, yet very, very scared.  Maybe it was the situation. Maybe there were some horrors that couldn't be conquered by modern medicine.  
_It's not a mask_ , Jared thought to himself, gasping.  He heard the rumble of voices, the sound of the windows being lowered. It was not a mask, it was not a tie at his neck or a hand over his mouth or a bag over his head, it was fine, fine.  
He heard the gate open and Misha laugh and then they were rolling through.  Smooth blacktop under the wheels, the same road Jared remembered from the first night he had been brought to Jeff's house.    
They were free.  
The console popped back open and Jared took in the sight of Misha's smiling face. "You did it."  
"I did it," Jared answered wearily.  He was so exhausted.  The adrenaline was wearing off and he was crashing, the smooth cadence of the car only adding to the sleepy feeling.  
"Just a bit longer, okay.  Can you hold on?"  
"Yeah," Jared said muzzily.  He kept his face turned toward the cold air and the light.  
"Welcome to the outside world, _Pakhan_." That was Matt.  
"Thanks.  You know where to go.  Drive."  
Stuck in the trunk, Jared yawned.  It should have been impossible, with his anxiety, but he was nodding off.  He jerked his head up as it started to slump down on the carpeted floor.  
"Much longer?"  
"A short while."  
Jared's eyes fluttered.  He was almost drifting off, when the sound of a siren screaming by jerked him back into consciousness.  And another, and another.  What sounded like half a dozen police cars, barreling up the road in the opposite direction.  
"That was cutting it close, _Pakhan_."  
"Don't I know it.  Still, we're free and clear."  
"What is it?" Jared asked, alarmed.  
Misha smiled through the gap in the seats and Jared recoiled back.  It wasn't a nice smile, and his fuzzy mind insisted that despite the familiar face, he was suddenly looking at another person.  
"DEA. FBI. Local law enforcement." Misha shrugged his shoulders.  His speech was different, the vowels more dragged out, the consonants more clipped. "Whoever managed to pull their heads out of their asses and cooperate.  It's a raid, Jared.  They've been watching Jeff for a very long time.  Their little mouse of an informant finally fed them enough dirt that they were able to move in.  I regret I'm not there to watch them drag Jeff away in handcuffs, but cautious is better."  
"You're an informant?"  
Misha brayed with laughter. "Yes. and no. I'm many things.  I was cooperating with the police. Or rather, Misha was.  Sweet, sweet Misha.  I will miss playing him."  
"You're not..."  
"I forgive you for not figuring it out.  After all, you're totally doped up right now.  Sedative.  Couple more minutes and you should be asleep.  
"Fuuuu..."  
"It's okay," Misha soothed. "Just rest. I'm taking you back."  
"Back...where..."  
"Back to the beginning.  Back where you belong.  Back where I can finally settle the score.  Now lights out."  Misha swung the console closed, pitching Jared back into darkness.  
He shoved against the trunk lid, fingers fumbling for the latch.  There had to be a release.  There had to be a way out.  But his eyelids were heavy, so heavy.  And the car rolled so smoothly.  Jared felt himself tumble into sleep.  
It was deep and dreamless.  There was no fear or terror there, no twisty visions of Jensen, of his past.  Just a cool, black place to drift, his mind finally quiet.  
When light and noise dragged him back up, it was a violation.  He struggled weakly against the arms holding him, wanting to stay down.  Voices, none he knew, buffering over him.  Hands, dragging him up and onto his feet, steering him somewhere.  
The words were a wash of more sound than sense.  
"This the one?"  
"Yes, I'm going to get some pictures now." Bright flash against Jared's closed eyes, making him jerk back and mumble.  
"Shit, like this?"  
"Not many. Just add some to the ones in his portfolio from before. Damn, he weighs a ton."  
"Looks thinner than the other pictures."  
"Clothes off?"  
"Just the shirt.  Couple of torso shots, let them see what he looks like when he's like this. We can do the body shots later.  He didn't have any from before." More white phosophoric blooms against the red of Jared's shut lids. He felt something cold, metallic, shearing away his shirt.  Scissors. He pulled sloppily against the arms holding him up.  
"Prep work? At minimum he needs a haircut."  
"Later.  When he's awake.  We can take more photos."  
"He'll be fighting us the whole way."  
"We'll see."  
"They want him in with the other one?"  
"Yeah, orders from Krushnic. Boss' new BFF.  Geez, that guy gives me the creeps."  
"Dead eyes.  Christ.  Okay, help me get him there."  
More forced walking, the ground cold under Jared's feet.  Creak of a door, a buzzing keypad.  His eyes fluttered open, taking in concrete walls, concrete floors.  Everything gray, gray, gray.  The hands let him go and he toppled down onto a plastic mattress, eyes sliding shut.  The smell was alarming, even as the softness of the surface pulled him back towards sleep. Something cold and metal snicked around his ankle.  
"Sweet dreams, big guy."  
Jared's eyes fluttered open again.  Across the room a figure came into focus, reclining on a bare plastic mattress, ankle chained to the wall.  Thinner and a bit grimier, but the same sharp, beautiful green eyes.  
"Jensen?" Jared croaked.  
"Hi baby," Jensen said.  Jared's eyes fluttered shut and he fell back unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm over 84 K on this series now. Damn.  
> *opens BB document, looks at anemic word count. Sighs.*


	18. A Less Than Ideal Reunion

It had been a while since Jensen had been trapped in one place, unable to come and go as he pleased.  Not since he was a child in the small, mean house he shared with his wispy-minded mother, or then the oppressive and noisy group home after she lost custody.  He remembered the boredom and annoyance of those times, of escaping into his own thoughts when it all became too much.  It had been tedious, and he had been glad when Jeff had adopted him, had given him his freedom.

Jensen had occasionally entertained the idea that he might be captured, although in his line of work death was probably more likely than imprisonment.  Interrogation and torture were possibilities, however remote.  He hadn’t been terribly bothered by the idea.  He could disappear into his own mind fairly easily to escape the pain.  And he’d had years to find internal methods of dealing with boredom.  A lot of his job was sitting and waiting, anyway.

He’d been a fool.

Less than a week and it had seemed to last twice as long.  Jared was the problem, Jensen knew.  Thinking and yes, caring about another person, being worried, was a brand-new and alarming experience.  Not being able to leave and find his boy, to see for himself that Jared was okay. He’d promised to find him, and he wasn’t able to do so.  Only the self-discipline he’d spent years cultivating kept him from lashing out in frustrated rage.  He’d always found it useless, worrying about what he couldn’t influence, couldn’t change. 

He’d never stopped to acknowledge the amount of power, the independence, he had become used to.

Jensen had known the Pellegrinos hadn’t had Jared.  The first day of Jensen’s captivity, they’d tried an interrogation of sorts, queries about Mark, about Jared, not realizing or perhaps not caring how much information their line of questioning gave away. 

They hadn’t had Jared.

 It had been a small relief.  His boy must have escaped the house, made it across the lake in the boat.   The relatively gentle treatment he received, along with further questions about Jeff, had led Jensen to believe there would be some sort of negotiations, perhaps a ransom. He seemed a high level prisoner, someone to be treated with care. But then the questions had changed, become alarming, and then stopped all together.  They had left Jensen alone, only entering his cell to provide the most basic of necessities, not responding to anything he said.

Something had changed.

There was nothing Jensen could do, but sit and stew in the cell.  He couldn’t get the information he needed, couldn’t escape—not in the condition they had left him in.  He had been stuck waiting for an opportunity, a change.  Or, God forbid, a rescue.

Jensen wasn’t holding his breath for that one.  He’d been relying on himself for most of his life. Both Tim and Jeff had always made noises about their concern for Jensen, how they had his back.  It was just words.  Self-sufficiency was the only way to not be disappointed.

Less than a week after Jensen’s capture, as the light beard on his chin was beginning to itch, Jared had finally been dragged into Jensen’s cell.  Unconscious, paler and thinner than Jensen remembered, but apparently unharmed.  Jared’s eyes had fluttered open briefly in recognition, and then he had crashed back down into sleep.

And Jensen had released the tension in his shoulders, suddenly aware of how long he had been carrying that worry.  Jared was right in front of his eyes, alive.

Breathing out the last of his fear from the depths of his lungs, Jensen sucked in another deep mouthful of air.  Then another.  He reached for calm.  But the tension began to build and build again, his inhalations shallower, his shoulders tighter.

Jared was a prisoner, too.

Frustratingly, there was nothing to be done.  Jensen sat quietly, watching Jared sleep.  He stretched as much as he could without pain, conjugated some irregular Russian verbs under his breath.  He closed his eyes briefly to help visualize the ideal layout of the dungeon he had created for Jared, moved some bondage  furniture around, added to his mental list of toys to buy.  Better to pretend everything was under control, to look to the future he wanted. 

To acknowledge how helpless he felt in his current situation was madness.

Several hours later there was a soft groan and he watched Jared shift around, pretty eyes fluttering open.  His boy was barefoot and shirtless, clad in a pair of sweatpants, and Jensen drank in the welcome sight of him, even as he arranged his face into placid boredom and sat quietly on his side of the cell.

“God,” Jared groaned.  He rolled to his knees, making the chain on his ankle clink.  Jensen watched enlightenment come to Jared’s face, the eyes widening in panic, the trembling of his limbs.  His boy’s eyes began to dart about the room, looking for the door, for a window.  There was one door, heavy and metal and bolted.  No windows.  The room was well lit but small.  Hopefully, it was not too small for Jared to cope.

“Good morning,” Jensen said when Jared’s eyes darted his way.  He watched the other man’s fearful face quiet, his shoulders drop minutely, before tension took over his body again.  Good.  Wherever Jared had been, whatever he had experienced, he still found Jensen to be a stabilizing influence.  He still looked to his Master for comfort, for safety.

That Jensen was in no position to provide either was just another thing to let go of.  No use, fretting over something outside his control.

“Is it morning?”

Jensen shrugged. “No idea.”

“Where are we?”

“It’s a warehouse.  Similar to the one we met in. The Pellegrinos use it as a cover for their more illicit human trafficking.  Two basement levels: first one is the playrooms.  The slaves are down here with us on the second level.”

Jared’s mouth had tightened in fear, but he raised an eyebrow in question at Jensen’s description.

“I was conscious when they brought me in,” Jensen explained. “And I did my research, before.  When I was looking for someone like you.” 

He’d collected quite a bit of information on his way into the warehouse, despite being groggy and in pain.  He knew the layout of the building.  He was pretty sure he knew the keypad code for their door.

“Your perfect fantasy,” Jared said bitterly. “Is this what you had in mind?”

“Not remotely.  How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Did you make it across the lake?”

“No.  Jeff—your dad, he sent Tim.  Tim came and got me.  I never got away.”

Something there, in Jared’s voice.  A quiet self-loathing.  A bit of broken-ness, where Jared had never been broken before.

“So you met the family,” Jensen said lightly, probing. What had Jared made of them, that motley crew?

 Jared laughed mirthlessly.

“What?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jared said, eyes sliding away.  He took in the room, the two bare mattresses, the toilet and sink against the back wall, the concrete floor.  The surveillance camera in the top corner of the room, red light blinking endlessly.  “At least this basement has running water.  Upgrade.”

“It’s less than ideal.”

“That’s an understatement.  So, why haven’t you broken out?  That was the big question back at your dad’s house.  Everyone was expecting you to come strolling up the front walk any moment.”

Jared’s voice was neutral, numb.  No indication that he had been hoping for Jensen to come find him.  Well, they’d parted under poor circumstances.  The intimacy Jensen had been cultivating, the web he’d been spinning, deliberately cut down and destroyed.  Only brutal truth between them.

Jensen shifted, wincing at the stab of pain in his leg.  Jared looked down, brow furrowing at the piece of wooden dowel tied to Jensen’s leg with two rags.

“Broken?”

“Yes,” Jensen said. “I passed out from a tranquillizer dart, fell down some stairs at the cabin, broke it.  Inconvenient.  They decided to only do a field splint, so I can’t put any weight on it.”

“It…it hurts?”

“All the time.”  It was the truth, but Jensen wondered if it was the wrong thing to say.  Jared seemed to deflate further, eyes bleak and far away.

“So no hope in you ninja-ing us out of here.  Got it.  Good to know.”

And Jensen watched in astonishment as Jared turned his back on him, curling up to face the wall.

“Jared, what’s going on?”

“Just let me sleep.”

“You’ve slept long enough,” Jensen said sharply.  He watched Jared’s shoulders tense, but the other man kept his back turned. “Tell me what’s going on.  Why do they have you?”

“Not my story to tell,” Jared said mysteriously. “I’m a terrible judge of character, but unless I’m way off I’m betting Misha will be in here in a while to gloat about the whole thing.”

“Misha?” Jensen brought the image of the man to his mind.  Dark-haired, cringing, usually darting around suspiciously.  Clinging to Alaina’s skirt in an annoying fashion, always whispering in her ear.

“He’s got a flair for the dramatic,” Jared replied dully.

Jensen opened his mouth the respond, when suddenly he heard the key pad on the door buzz.  The door swung open, and Misha stood in the opening, his father’s man Matt behind him.  Misha was clad in a dark green suit, the material slick and shiny and expensive-looking, his tie loud and paisley.  He stood proud, looking fearless, completely the opposite of how Jensen had always seen him, and Jensen blinked, looking closer, realizing this was the same hand-wringing wimp that Jeff had allowed to stay in the house, despite Jensen’s objections.

“Right on cue,” Jared muttered, rolling over. “Hey, Misha.”

“Hey.”

“You watching us on the surveillance monitor, waiting for me to wake up?”

“Oh my God, for hours,” Misha said excitedly. “Took you long enough.”

“This is your story to tell, right?”

“Right,” Misha said, laughing. “I bet you wish you had been this perceptive before you got in the car with me.”

“Hindsight is 20/20.”

“True.”

“Misha?” Jensen asked, mystified. 

“Dimitri Krushnic,” Misha corrected, smiling meanly.

“The mob boss?” Jensen scoffed. “You pissed yourself when Tim pulled his gun on you.”

“I thought _you_ pulled the gun on him,” Jared corrected.

Misha laughed. “If Jensen had been the one in the kitchen, I’d probably be dead.  I don’t think he would have bought my squealing coward act.  Or even cared whether I was a civilian or not.”

“I’ve always wanted to put a bullet between your eyes,” Jensen said.

“Tim has the more level head,” Misha replied, seemingly unoffended by Jensen’s comment.

“You lied to me,” Jared said quietly.

“It’s my story,” Misha countered. “I get to tell it the way I like.  You should always check your sources, Jared.  Out of all the lies you’ve been fed, that little one of mine has probably been the least hurtful.”

“And you’ve been pretending to be someone else all this time.  That’s some pretty quick thinking,” Jensen said, impressed despite himself.  He knew he had little talent for that type of deception.  After all, even when he had tried his hardest to play at being someone else, Jared had seen through it.

“Thanks,” Misha said. “I like that, pretending.  Playing a role. And in my line of work I’ve found it’s always good to have a few identities saved up, a few aliases.  Pretending to be someone else was always a bit like a hobby for me.  I’ve got two different wives in the Midwest and a tax-deductible church as well.  Although being Misha was simply hell. And that’s your fault, Jensen.”

“How so?” Jensen asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You convinced Jeff to order the hit on me,” Misha growled. “He wanted to negotiate, to settle the conflict between us.  Instead you come into my house and murder my staff!”

“They threw themselves at the guns,” Jensen replied.

“You killed my cook!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have brainwashed an old lady to fight to the death for you, then.  If your employees had gotten out of the way, they’d still be alive.”

Misha grinned suddenly. “But they like fighting for me.  Dying for me.  Giving me their loyalty.”  He put a possessive hand on Matt’s shoulder. Matt smiled faintly.

“He’s one of yours?” Jensen asked.

“He wasn’t.  Now he is.  Inspiring people is a specialty of mine.”

“I don’t know how you took the most level-headed guard my father has and turned him into your pet zombie.  To be honest, I would have expected Speight to betray him, not Cohen.”  Jensen cocked his head, curious.

“That’s just it,” Misha said, still petting Matt. “He was perfect.  Smart, rational.  Immoral enough to work for Jeff, but with his own code of conduct, his own standards.  Messy people are hard to break.  But someone that responds to order, to structure, they’re ripe for the taking.”

Misha looked from Jensen to Jared, then laughed loudly.

“Jared, look at his face!  The wheels are always turning with that one!  You’d like to know how I do it, wouldn’t you, Jensen?  Would you like to me to tell you the secret?  Help you make Jared yours, mind, body and soul?  Make it so he’ll never say ‘no’ to you again?”

Jared looked at Jensen’s face.  The expression: caught, intrigued, but not at all guilty.

“I can’t,” Misha said. “Not like I can with someone like Matt.  I don’t think it’s possible.  Jared’s like one of those kiddie punching bags, smack it hard and it pops back up like you never struck it down.  Now Matt, I could ask him to put a gun to his head, pull the trigger.  You would, wouldn’t you Matt?”

“Yes, _Pahkan_.”

“But Jared?  No, I don’t think you could break someone like him.” Misha smiled slyly. “Of course, only time will tell.  But I won’t be around to do the breaking.”

“What are you going to do?” Jared asked.

“Go home.  Running my empire from Matt’s cell phone has been inadequate.  I have to put my house in order.  My revenge is almost complete.  Jeff’s out of the way, arrested under charges of money laundering.  Alaina, betrayed by her pet, outwitted by the man she thought beneath her, agent in her own father’s downfall.  Tim got away, true, but I’m sure I can catch up with him later. And Jeff’s favorite, his only son, kept here.”  Misha spread his arms expansively to indicate the mean, little cell. “Working a different kind of job than he’s used to.”

Jensen frowned. “If you think I’m going to—“

Misha laughed delightedly. “Oh, I know.  Even with your broken leg, you’d kill the first client who came close enough to touch your dick.  I’ve actually put a lot of thought into this.  They have playrooms here with the most delightful restraints.  We could strip you, tie you down, make it so you couldn’t fight back.  Even lying still like a dead fish, you’re pretty enough that some might pay for the experience.  But what’s the point, really?  Why would the Pellegrinos pay for the care and feeding of a human fleshlight?”

“I’m sure you have a different idea in mind,” Jensen said carefully.

“Scared finally.  That’s good.  I like you scared.  I’ve noticed it’s not easy to get an emotional reaction out of you. You have a specific skill set, Jensen.  One that matches well with your little pet here.  I think you’re going to volunteer.  I think you’re going to play along.  Put on some ridiculous pleather pants and play the Dom for the Pellegrinos, earn them some money.  You two will make a pretty pair.”

“No.”

“You can take your time and think about it,” Misha replied happily. “All you’ll have is time.  Jared, however, has to get back to work.  He’s already got a waiting list.  I’ve arranged to have you watch his appointments.  Watch other people get to taste what should be yours and yours alone.”

Jared recoiled, shrinking back against the wall, his chain clinking.  On the other side of the room, Jensen surged forward angrily, only to hiss with pain and fall back onto the mattress, hand going to his splinted leg.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“We’re very similar, Jensen,” Misha said. “Very possessive of what belongs to us.  We don’t like it when other people try to take our things away.  You took my people away and left me pretending to be your sister’s dancing monkey.  Now I’m going to hit you where it hurts the most.  It’s your turn to dance to the tune of others. The only person you care about, I have on good authority, is Jared.  And now if you want to have him at all, it will be only at the mercy of others.  And only if you agree to play nice.  Be a good whore.”

“Misha,” Jared said faintly, face white.

Smiling, Misha stepped into the cell.  He patted Jared condescendingly on the cheek. “Sorry, pal.  It’s nothing against you. No hard feelings.”

Jared snapped his head around and bit down on Misha’s fingers.  Shouting in pain, Misha stumbled back, hand bleeding, as Matt surged forward protectively.

“No hard feelings,” Jared said and spit blood in Misha’s direction.

“You!” Misha exclaimed, raising his fist.  Then he dropped it, smiling ruefully. “I guess that’s fair.  You get that one for free.”  He cradled his bitten fingers. “You’re not going to like what’s coming, Jared.  You might want to talk to Jensen.  See if you can convince him to play along.  If you want him to be the one you bend your knees to.  I don’t know, maybe you’d prefer someone else.  Maybe you’ll end up having a favorite client.  Who knows?”

Turning to walk out of the cell, Misha managed an airy wave with his uninjured hand. “You two crazy kids have fun.  Spend some time catching up.  Oh and Jensen, you should ask your baby boy about Jeff.”

The cell door slammed shut with a clang.  Head spinning a bit, Jensen looked up at Jared, at the other man’s stricken face.

“What about Jeff?”

“Fuck off,” Jared snapped angrily, making Jensen jerk back in surprise.  Jared turned away, rolling back over to face the wall.

“Jared?”

“Just leave me alone,” Jared whispered and then he fell silent.  Something there, then some wound under his pet’s gentle skin.  Something in Misha’s pointed words, designed to knock Jared down. No point in badgering him about it now, Jensen thought.  Not when there were other pressing concerns.

It was a poor situation to say the least.  But at least now, with Misha’s visit, with the presence of  Jared, the pieces were all in place. No more quiet, anxious waiting.  Now, for better or worse, Jensen would have a decision to make.  Jensen sat quietly, thinking.  Making lists in his head, raising and discarding ideas in the silence, pondering the impossible situation they had been left in.

His mind was never truly quiet.


	19. Two Bits

The cell was quiet. At least Jensen had ceased trying to talk, to create conversation, and Jared was grimly pleased for the respite. Despite Misha’s insistence, Jared had no intention of explaining what had happened with Jeff to Jensen. Let Misha come back in and make a grand speech about it if he wanted to twist the knife. Jared was tired of being a pawn.

Ridiculous that it should be so hurtful. He’d never really trusted Misha, not after the cookies, not after that first day. But Misha had worked so hard after: to be likeable, to be sensible. Jared hadn’t trusted but he had listened. And Misha's support, face solemn, so compassion and sympathetic and reasonable about what had happened with Jeff, well that was the cruelest cut of all.

Misha’s revenge on Jensen hinged on Jared being hurt. As if he was of no importance, just a tool to be wielded. Jared's feelings, his wants, none of that mattered. He’d been treated like a toy before, by Jensen and by Jeff, but never so viciously. Never without his basic humanity, his pain, at least being acknowledged. He'd been a cherished play-toy, broken down and cobbled back together, valuable.

Misha saw him as nothing. A thing.

Shifting on the cold plastic of the mattress, Jared sifted through his feelings. Was it anger or self-loathing? Grief? He had nothing better to do. No way to leave and nowhere to go. No home and no means to care for himself. No one on his side.

Jared let out an annoyed sigh and flopped over on his back, chain clinking. Already, his ankle itched.

“Pity,” he muttered and Jensen cocked his head curiously.

“Pardon?”

“What I’m feeling? Self-pity. Took me a while to identify the feeling.”

“Hm. Our situation is quite pitiable, I agree.” Jensen's face was placid, even under his unkempt layer of scruff. If he was in pain, his face gave no outward sign.

“It’s useless. And don’t say ‘our.’ There is no ‘our’ or ‘us,’ okay?”

“There’s always going to be an ‘us’,” Jensen said, then held up a hand when Jared started to protest. “We don’t need to argue about it now. But we’re in this together.”

“So what do you want to do?” Jared asked sarcastically, rolling his eyes at the repeated use of ‘we’. “Plan the great escape?”

“I want to snuggle.”

“What?”

“Well, I missed you,” Jensen explained, smiling faintly. “I think even with the chains we can make this work. Just push your mattress towards the center and I’ll climb over carefully—“

“You’re nuts.”

“You don’t want to be held?” Jensen asked innocently. “You don’t want comfort?”

He did, dammit, of course he did. That weak need for succor, contact. Even more so if it was coming from Jensen. He had missed him, even as things had been left between them. But Jared wasn't going to give in to his weakness, not this time.

“Not from you.”

“Liar.”

“Look, like I said, there is no ‘us’. And you’re hardly in a position to be making any demands on me.”

“If you’re worried I’ll take advantage…”

“Nope,” Jared said, narrowing his eyes. “And I would kick you in your broken leg if you tried.”

“So you have been thinking about ‘us’,” Jensen said gleefully.

“I may just kick you in your broken leg anyway.”

“You’re different,” Jensen noted, head cocked to the side. “Defiant. Less anxious. Or maybe you’re just pretending. Holding on as best you can."

“Last time you were in control, now you’re not,” Jared snapped, feeling exposed under Jensen's shrewd, green-eyed gaze. Truthfully, it was different. Being wildly attracted to Jensen, confused by his feelings, and appalled by Jensen’s ruthless, greedy desire—Jared had been a mess. But he didn’t need to remind the other man of any of that.

“If Misha gets his way, I’ll be back in control of you shortly,” Jensen remarked, smirking.

“No, someone else will be in control. You’ll be the equivalent of a dildo, some human sex toy someone else is directing, telling what to do. If Misha has his way you’ll never be in control again."

Jensen's brow creased--twice now he had been objectified and Jared could tell he didn't like it--but he retorted, "And you'll be a sex toy, too."

"Same shit, different day," Jared said. "I've been treated like someone's personal pleasure robot for months. I'm used to it. Let's see how you like it."

Jensen considered that, frowning. “You’re taking this well.”

“Ugh!” Jared puffed out a breath of air, blowing messy hair off his forehead. “I’ve had time. Your dad wanted to trade me for you. I’m sure if Misha—Dimitri, whoever—hadn’t gotten involved, I’d be here anyway. I was always going to end up here.”

“I would have rescued you.”

“Not making it better,” Jared muttered.

“Wouldn’t you rather be mine? Me rather than what will apparently be an unending queue of rich, kinky strangers? At least I care about you."

“Don’t,” Jared said sharply. “Just don’t. Not now. There’s no point anyway.”

“This is important--,” Jensen insisted but he was interrupted by the buzz of the door.

The door swung open, revealing a woman in a crisp pantsuit, flanked by two huge bald-headed thugs. Her light brown hair was swept up in an elegant up-do, the skin around her large blue eyes crinkling with distaste as she surveyed the tiny cell. Her gaze swept over to Jared.

"I'm Ms. Tapping. Amanda."

"Hello," Jared said cautiously.

"We've met,"Jensen said lightly.

Amanda frowned. "I don't care who your daddy is, you break another one of Pellegrino's men's necks and I break your other leg."

Jensen inclined his head, smiling faintly.

Amanda sighed. "Jared, you're with me. First client is tomorrow. I'm responsible for getting you cleaned up. I'd ask if you were planning to be cooperative but if you're anything like your cellmate it would just be a waste of time."

"Tomorrow?!"

All of Jared's carefully constructed bravado crumbled into panic. He wasn't ready. He wasn't.

"I thought Krushnic wanted us working together," Jensen said. "Didn't he want me to choose?"

"I don't care what that slimy bastard wants,"Amanda replied. "But yes. However, no one is waiting around for your answer, Your Highness. This client had been lined up for months. He's been maddeningly insistent, based only on Jared's incomplete portfolio. He gets first dibs."

Sitting up straighter, Jensen's body tensed, lips tightening.

"Finally a reaction from the Ice Princess," Amanda said dryly, but she quickly looked back at Jared. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to let my men help you up. I'm going to give you something mild to relax you. Lord knows you'll want it. I wouldn't mind one myself. Then we pretty you up and take some pictures, then put you back in the cell. I can give you something stronger after, if you want it. How nice we make this all hinges on your cooperation. You want to be an aggressive dick like your roommate here, fine. You don't need to be conscious for a shave and a haircut. Understand?"

Shivering, Jared nodded.

"Excellent. Get him up."

It happened in a haze. Jared heard the clink of his ankle chain being unlocked, felt his arms being taken in a firm, impersonal grip. Then he was on his feet and looking down into Amanda's eyes. She held out her hand. There was a small beige pill resting on her palm.

"I can give you an injection," she said softly. "But track marks tend to lower your value. What will it be: pill or needle?"

Jared obediently opened his mouth. Swallowed the pill dry. Reopened his mouth and lifted his tongue, until Amanda gave a satisfied nod.

"Good boy."

Helplessly, Jared's gaze darted to Jensen. What could he do? How could he help? Nevertheless, Jared felt himself pleading with his eyes. _Stop this. Fix this._

"It's okay," Jensen said. "I'll be here when you get back."

The words were cold comfort.

Outside the cell, the floor was clean, industrial carpet, the lighting over-bright and harsh. Jared walked along, one of Amanda's men beside him, the other behind. Slightly ahead, Amanda's sensible low-heel shoes made no sound as she trotted along briskly.

"Who...who?"

Amanda slowed her pace. The thug gripping Jared's arm released it and fell back and Jared stumbled forward, side by side with his new jailer.

"I can see you're not much like Jensen,"she said. "Your file is probably accurate. Submissive. Civilized. Those are good traits."

"I have a file?"

"Of course. All of our...all of you do. Mark started yours. Krushnic spent a good hour adding to it. Only a couple of head shots in it. Front and profile."

Jared flinched a bit, remembering. Gun at his back. Being shoved into a car, dragged into a warehouse and tossed into a uncomfortable wooden chair. Babbling his answers to Mark's smug, vicious verbal assault, confused and terrified. The click of a camera and two flashes of light. In the face of everything that had happened after, he'd pushed it all aside.

"Who...who is the client?"

"He's the heir to a shipping fortune. Young, spoiled brat from what I hear. He's been a client of ours before, apparently. I've never met him. But what does it matter?"

"What...what does he want?"

Amanda opened her mouth to answer, then snapped it shut. Frowning, she said gently, "It's not really any of your business, is it?"

"I want to know,"Jared insisted.

"I hate this," Amanda muttered cryptically. Behind her, one of the men coughed into his fist, almost warningly, and she straightened her spine and arranged her features back into their bland, pleasant expression. "I normally work upstairs. I don't suppose I have the right temperament to be cruel with the...merchandise. Please don't test me, though. The clients review the files, not the other way around. I'm not free to tell you much more."

She stepped ahead and Jared numbly let one of her men take him by the arm again. At the end of the hall was an elevator and Amanda pulled a fob out of her pocket, swiping it against the key pad and then typing in a code. Craning his neck--Jared couldn't help it--he tried to peek past her to see the numbers, but she had completely blocked his view.

Turning, Amanda granted him a brittle smile. "That's also in your file, Jared. Good with numbers, computers, quick memorization. We won't be making the same mistakes with our security. Utterly useless skills, considering what your future will be."

There was classical music playing spritely in the elevators and Jared watched as the numbers flashed up to level B1.

The doors opened on a completely different world. The floors were marble and shined to a high gloss. The walls were a rich, textured red wallpaper. The lighting was softer here, more sensual. It looked like what it was, the entry to a very expensive whorehouse.

"Fancy," Jared muttered.

"Overblown and gauche," Amanda countered. "But I didn't have a say in the design down here."

She swiped her fob and pushed open one of the gilded doors.  
"You'll be in here with Mr. Roche and his assistant. I won't be staying. I'll come to collect you after."

Amanda led the way into a medium-sized room, tricked out to look halfway between a salon and a medical clinic, brightly lit and exceedingly clean. There was a light-haired man standing in the middle of the room, white coat cliche and somehow grotesque, considering what it was supposed to represent. He folded his hands and smiled a craggy smile at Jared, just as a lean blonde bounced out of a door at the back of the room, her slender neck nearly strangled by the weight of her camera.

"Amanda,"the man said, voice accented.

"Sebastian," Amanda answered resignedly. She inclined her head to the blonde. "Nikki."

"Excellent, let's get started," Sebastian said. He walked up to Jared, smiling faintly as Jared flinched back into one of the two men still standing behind him. "Easy now. Can I see your hand?"

Jared let him take it.

"Manicure definitely. Your nails are disgraceful. Where were they keeping you, in a kennel?"

"A basement," Jared answered. "So you were close."

Nikki snickered.

Sebastian dropped Jared's hand, continuing to examine him with a critical eye, head tilting to the side and neck jerking back and forth, reminiscent of a curious chicken. "Haircut, shave--would it have killed them to give you a facial--at least the eyebrows are good..."

Emboldened by the absurdity of the situation, Jared blurted, "Last time they just shoved me in a room in my own clothes. I didn't get a makeover."

"No accounting for taste," Sebastian said. "But if the client requested you coated in mud or draped in a fur hide, we'd work to accommodate them. This particular client, however, is meticulous. Last girl he picked out had a hangnail and I never heard the end of it. Turn."

Blinking, Jared allowed himself to be turned by Amanda's men. He looked up and saw her standing by the door, face concerned. She caught him looking and frowned fiercely.

"Nice," Sebastian continued, voice approving but impersonal. "No scars, tattoos. He doesn't like any of that. Turn again."

Jared was spun around again.

"Medical stuff seems to be pretty minimal. Teeth cleaning. STD test. Enema."

"STD test!" Jared exclaimed, and then his mind stuttered to a halt at the word 'enema.'

"Yes," Sebastian said. He whisked a piece of paper off one of the counters, scanning the contents. "It's on the list. Swab test. Blood draw. We screen both our whores and our clients carefully. Most don't want to use a condom."

It was hard for Jared to tell what triggered the whiteout in his mind. Sebastian's casual use of the word 'whore'? The idea that Jeff might have infected him with something? That he was going to be tested and potentially treated in this horrible, overly sanitary room?

Jared was in the room and then suddenly there was a leap...a skip in time, and he felt someone shaking his shoulder and calling his name.

"Jared..."

He looked around, blinking. Amanda had her hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. He blinked again, remembered where he was, and then stared down at her hopelessly. Her mouth moved, as if she might say something, and then there was the click of a shutter and they both jerked around to look at Nikki, pointing her camera at Jared.

"Perfect," Nikki said, snapping her gum. "I'm calling that one 'Devastation'."

"I better not be in that shot," Amanda said sharply.

"Ugh. Of course not."

"You don't need to take pictures of him being prepped,"Amanda said.

"We always take pictures of them being prepped," Sebastian said, voice soothing. "It's not like the clients want us to get in the room and take some action shots, ruin their fantasy--"

"No."

"He'll probably check out during most of it anyway. Stress and drugs. He's already done it once. Some of them even doze off, take a little nap. Amanda, this is standard procedure."

"Some things don't need to be documented,"Amanda snapped. "Bodily functions?"

"Hey, my enema photos are always kept tasteful," Nikki said, defending her work. "I focus mainly on the face anyway. He's got a great one. All this tragic nobility."

"The type of clients he'll be pulling in will expect a certain level of intimacy from his portfolio," Sebastian explained.

"Perverts,"Nikki added helpfully.

"As long as I'm in charge it's my decision," Amanda countered. She rubbed her hands together briskly. "Do your glamour shots, Nikki. Leave the rest alone."

"You might not be in charge that much longer if you keep this up," Sebastian said sympathetically. "This is downstairs, Amanda. We do things differently than upstairs."

"Don't I know it," Amanda retorted. "Still. They can dig Mark's body up and reanimate it if they want things done his way. File a complaint if you like."

"I wouldn't do that to you, dear. Very well." Sebastian waved Nikki back. "Tone it down, Nikki. I'm sure we can work on a compromise."

Turning back to Jared, Amanda patted his shoulder again. Numb and tired, Jared rubbed his eyes. He should be fighting, screaming, trying to run. But he just wanted to close his eyes to everything horrible and go away for a while.

"Just check out," Amanda whispered. "It's okay. Just drift off. It's better that way."

So Jared did.

He came back to himself an unknown amount of time later. He was lying on a couch, covered in a light blanket. His skin felt clean, moisturized and very, very bare. He heard the click of the camera shutter and looked at Nikki, kneeling on the floor next to the couch, aiming her camera at him.

"These are going to be so cute," she said, beaming down into the viewfinder. "Like a sleeping kitten."

"Great," Jared said dryly. "Am I done?"

"Yup."

Well at least that was a relief. He'd mentally checked out for most of it. Vague impressions in his mind that he chose not to chase down. How long had it been? Hours?

"Come on, Jared," Amanda said. She was standing by the door, hands again primly clasped.  
Jared sat up. Then winced. Then gasped. There was something inside him, holding him open. It felt obscene.

"What did you do?"

"This is a great reaction!" Nikki said but when she lifted her camera up, Amanda strode over and slapped it back down.

"Hey!"

"Leave it, Nikki."

Jared lifted the blanket and looked down, shocked.There was a belt of sorts, locked around his waist. It was holding something inside him.

"What is it?"

"Our version of a chastity belt,"Sebastian said. "Your test results don't come back until tomorrow. No penetrative sex until you get a clean bill of health. This is more for the client than you, understand. Wealthy people often think the rules don't apply to them. Also I'm to understand that you'll be sharing a cell, which is highly irregular. Better to avoid temptation. We'll keep you plugged until after your appointment."

"Can I get some clothes?"Jared asked, voice rough.

"Get him a robe,"Amanda said.

"We normally don't dress any of the merchandise on this level," Sebastian replied. "The cells are warm enough. It helps with the mindset--"

"Seb, get him a damn robe."

It was short and plain white cotton, but it was more than Jared got most of the time, he wasn't going to complain. He shrugged it on and then stood up, biting his lip a little at the sensation. The plug shifted inside him and _oh. Oh_.

Oh, shit.

"Interesting reaction," Sebastian remarked, observing Jared's burgeoning erection. "It isn't really sized to be stimulating, but well, everyone is made differently."

"Come on, Jared," Amanda said and he trailed after her stiffly, limping a bit, the plug jostling inside him with every step.

"Bye," Nikki said helpfully, snapping off one last shot.

When the door swung shut, Sebastian turned to his assistant. "Nikki, call in sick tomorrow."

"What? Why?"

"Something's coming down," Sebastian said vaguely. Then he smiled affectionately at his perplexed assistant. "Shakeups. Leadership changes. Things are unsettled. I don't know exactly what's happening but...trust an old hand at this, Nikki. Call in sick. I'll let you know when to come back in."

"Okay," Nikki said, shrugging. "Not like we have that many down here to work on anyway. Let me process these shots and update his file."

"Fine," Sebastian said and he ducked into the back room to clean up.

Nikki looked towards the closed door, almost sniffed the air as if trying to divine the future through her nose. Then she shrugged.

"Whatever," she muttered under her breath and went to coo over her photos.

Outside, Jared followed Amanda down the shiny red hallway.

"This is humiliating," Jared muttered, shuffling along. "A nightmare. And you all keep acting like this is normal."

Little jolts of sensation shivered through him with each step, unwanted licks of pleasure. He heard one of the guards behind him muffle a laugh and flushed up to his ears.

"Knock it off," Amanda scolded half-heartedly. To Jared she said quietly, "It's better that you're enjoying it to some extent. Makes things easier."

"Of course I'm enjoying it," Jared sighed, angrily. "I'm just begging for it."

Amanda cocked her head curiously. "Physical response is just biology. Animal reaction. It doesn't say anything about you as a person."

"Why are you protecting me?" Jared asked.

Amanda gave a short, bark of laughter. "Force of habit, I suppose. A bad habit down here. I'm sure I'll get over it. Grow a thicker skin. Become more heartless."

"Don't."

"I will or they'll get rid of me," Amanda replied, carefully keying open the elevator. "Just behave. Good advice all around. Maybe they'll move you out of that room with that psychopath. We have nicer cells, apparently."

"You don't like Jensen?"

"Jensen's the reason for my untimely promotion," Amanda sneered, stepping into the elevator. Then she sighed. "Fine. It's not like I can talk to my therapist about this. Do you know what's upstairs, Jared?"

He shook his head.

"An industrial space that has been converted into very nice lofts. There's a concierge. A gym. And the space is rented at a discount to some of the best escorts in this town."

Jared frowned. "There are prostitutes working upstairs, too?"

"They don't work upstairs. That would be stupid. They work out of the best hotels and the homes of very rich people. The ply their trade at the opera and the ballet and in nice restaurants. Upstairs is where they live and where I manage them. Make sure they're healthy and safe."

Then Jared understood. "Willing workers."

"Yes. I mean, I knew it was illegal. My job. But none of them are forced and I respect the idea that they can do what they like with their own bodies. I'm aware of how dangerous sex work can be. Then Mark dies and next thing I know I'm considered senior enough to know about all of this." She gestured expansively, indicating the whole of the basement space. "The worst, the absolute worst--what I thought I was protecting my people from--lurking right under our feet."

"You could go to the police," Jared offered weakly.

Amanda snorted. "Why don't I just blow my own brains out and save myself a step? There's no getting out of this. We all just have to toe the line."

The elevator opened and they were walking back down the depressingly gray hallway. Jared looked left and right and he passed each door in the hall. Some of the keypads were lit with a red light. Others were green.

"There are more people down here that just me and Jensen," Jared realized. It was like someone had doused him in cold water. Slaves.

"Yes."

"How many?"

"Stop it," Amanda said, sighing. "Just focus on yourself. Behave. I'll do my best by you. And the others. Same as I would for the ones upstairs. But this is just how it is. Now, do you want a sedative?"

Jared shook his head.

"Are you sure? After a certain point I won't be able to offer you anything. Your client doesn't want any drugs in your system."

"No."

"Okay then." She patted his shoulder one last time. "See you tomorrow. Rest."

Jensen was sitting in the same position he had been in when Jared left. They stared wordlessly at each other as the guards reaffixed Jared's ankle chain and the door buzzed shut.

Then Jared sighed, stood up, and shoved his mattress closer to the center of the room.

Jensen smiled.

"Don't say I told you so."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Jensen crawled carefully onto the mattress, moving his splinted leg gingerly. "C'mere."

Crawling into Jensen's arms, Jared felt his body begin to shake. He buried his face in Jensen's neck and shuddered, unable to stop the quivering of his body.

"You want to talk about it?" Jensen asked.

"It was awful," Jared gasped, teeth chattering, breath coming in sobs. "I just...I didn't even try to get away."

"Of course not. They would have restrained you. You don't like that."

"God," Jared gasped.

"You look really nice, though. Are those highlights?"

Jared choked on a sob that turned into a laugh. "Shut up."  
"I had to try and distract you."

"I don't know what they did," Jared said soberly. "I just...went away. Some of it was probably the drugs but the rest? I don't know. I don't care. Silver lining though. Maybe I can just disappear tomorrow."

"A good Dom won't just let you check out," Jensen said. "He's going to expect you to be present."

"A good Dom wouldn't be supporting sex trafficking."

"Touché."

"I thought you were supposed to be comforting me?"

"I admit to an ulterior motive."

"I promised I would kick you in your leg."

Jensen chuckled. Then he leaned in, lips soft against Jared's ear and whispered, "The camera won't pick up a conversation this quiet. We need to talk. Keep your voice down and your lips against my skin."

Jared raised his eyebrows. "And here I thought you were making a move."

"We can multi-task," Jensen said and dragged his mouth down the column of Jared's neck, making him swallow a groan.

"I was serious," Jared warned weakly. He brought is free foot up closer to Jensen's hurt leg, an obvious threat.

"Killjoy. But fine. This is about getting out. I've given it some thought. We should take Misha's deal."

"How will that help?" Jared whispered.

"Because I'm not going to dominate you with a bum leg. They'll need me to stalk around, look like a badass for a paying audience. At minimum they'll need to stabilize the leg. That probably means a boot--they can take it off and on, limiting my mobility. They put it on and I'll be able to move fairly quickly. I'll be able to fight."

"Sounds foolproof," Jared whispered back.

"Naysayer. Just trust me. I can get us out."

"Get you out. For me it's just a change in geography."

"Listen," Jensen whispered urgently. "We can worry about that later. Right now the priority is getting out."

"Suppose I say 'no'. I won't agree to it. There is no 'us'. Every man for himself."

"They'll probably have me killed," Jensen breathed. "Do you want that?"

Jared looked away. "No."

"So we're agreed."

"Fine."

"Hm," Jensen mused. "I thought you would at least try to bargain for your freedom."

"What's the point? You wouldn't listen."

"You should at least try," Jensen said, sounding mystified.

Jared sighed into Jensen's hair.

"I don't like this. I don't like you like this."

"Like what?"

"Defeated."

"Misha seemed to think you were hot for a brainwashed sex zombie."

"Misha doesn't know me very well," Jensen murmured. "I was interested in his methods because I wanted to know if he had corrupted you. If you were following his orders."

"I might be."

"No. You'd be trying to please me, get under my guard. You wouldn't be so damn sad."

"Sorry if I'm killing your fantasy of who I should be,"Jared whispered bitterly.

"I'm not disappointed. I'm...worried about you."

Jared leaned back to study Jensen's face, cocked an unimpressed brow.

"I'm not lying." Jensen said seriously, then grinned. "Anyway, I like the struggle. When you're lost in the moment, conflicted, hating and loving what I'm doing to you. I want to see you smile again. Then I want to be the one to take that smile away."

"Wow. That managed to be both romantic and gross."

Jared turned around, let Jensen pull him back into a protective embrace. He sighed softly.  
"Okay. Escape plan it is. I'm sure this will all work out wonderfully for me."

"Hm," Jensen hummed. Then he said, "What's this?"

Jared slapped at the hand tracing curiously along the leather belt at his waist, plucking at his robe. "Stop it."

"This is delicious. Where do these straps go--ow!"

"I warned you," Jared said, drawing his foot back from Jensen's injured leg.

"That's my boy."

"Did you just let me kick you...to make me feel better?"

"You went easy on me. Didn't even kick that hard."

"Weirdo."

"I love you," Jensen said simply.

"Hmpf."

"Remember, you don't have to say it back."

The lights dimmed suddenly, and Jared startled. Jensen, however, merely yawned.

"Bedtime."

"I don't know if I can sleep."

"Oh," Jensen said innocently, rolling his hips into Jared's ass, making the plug jostle. "Want me to make you come?"

Jared bit his lip to swallow his groan. Traitorous body. "No. Jensen--"

"Okay. Don't kick me again." Jensen sighed resignedly, then pressed his lips back to Jared's ear. "Just close your eyes and look drowsy. We need to plan our escape."


	20. All Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you such much for all your amazing comments. I do cuddle them close to my dark, dark heart. <3
> 
> Tags have been updated.

Waiting in the cell, Jensen let the escape plan percolate in his mind. He raised and dismissed concerns, added and discarded possible complications. It was difficult to stay focused, for multiple reasons. His mind kept circling back to Jared; his boy was servicing some unknown client on the floor upstairs. Occasionally, Jensen would pause in his thoughts and strain to listen, as if he could hear what was going on through the thick barrier of concrete and steel. Was Jared screaming, crying, coming?

Jensen didn't know and the lack of knowing tormented him.

  
Some of it was jealousy—hot rage searing him from the inside out. No one else should be touching his slave. Even more troubling, however, was the bitter pang of worry. Despite Misha’s lofty assurances of Jared’s resiliency, despite what Jensen knew of Jared himself, some layer of protection had cracked and left Jared vulnerable. A shove, a push of some kind, and Jared could break. He could shatter.

  
Jensen didn't want that, not really. But if it had to happen, he really didn't want it happening under someone else’s hand. If anyone should break Jared, it should be him.

  
He pushed those thoughts away again, knowing that feeling of powerlessness would come back. It was so tempting to fly into action, to storm the basement like an avenging warrior. It wouldn't take much for Jensen to get a guard in the room, get the door opened. He could pick the lock on his cuff; he'd tested that the first day. Beat down the guard and slip the cuff and then?

  
Jensen needed only to shift his leg slightly to know what came next. Crawling down the hallway like a worm, leg unable to bear his weight, heading for the elevator or the stairwell, both locked and requiring a code and a key.

  
The impulse was emotional, sloppy, and ultimately futile. Jensen pushed the desire down; turned his mind back to his planning. Getting the key fob and the code from Amanda would require cunning. The previous night, Jared had explained the difficulty in obtaining the code. Running through the Pellegrino employees he knew were on site, Amanda seemed the most likely target. She didn't seem to approve of slavery, and she was new to the job. Overpower her guards and she wouldn't present much of a physical threat.

  
A further complication: Jensen had no idea what security looked like beyond the first basement level. Ostensibly the ground floor should have the appearance of a luxury apartment building, perhaps a security guard or two at the front desk. But things could change, shift, and locked in the cell, Jensen couldn't scout the location, assess threat and risk, make educated calculations. Things might have altered, security increased, and Jensen had no way of knowing.

  
They had one shot at this. Jensen didn't think for one moment that he'd be allowed to live if he was captured in a failed escape attempt. He didn't doubt that Misha's revenge was only a sick joke to the business-minded Pellegrino family, a favor to Krushnic they would no longer indulge when it became costly and dangerous. Another time perhaps, when Jeff had still been in play, his influence would have been enough to keep Jensen safe. Not now, with Jeff out of the picture.

  
Too many unknowns. Too much left to chance. He hated it. Jensen took a moment and indulged his fear, his worry, his rage.

He drove his fist into the top of his thigh, sending stabbing pain radiating down his broken leg. His vision whited out and he let his head fall back and strike the concrete wall with a thunk. He closed his eyes and just let himself feel everything.

  
When the pain abated, he opened his eyes, let out a deep breath, and got back to work.

  
Several hours later, the cell door buzzed and then swung open. Jared returning from his appointment. Amanda stood at the threshold, her hand on Jared’s arm, both of them flanked by the two guards. Amanda looked worried, eyes on Jared’s face, and Jared…

  
Jared looked utterly devastated.

  
He was shivering and pale, even though he was clad in a long thick robe, deep purple and made of some soft, velvety cloth. It looked like something swiped out of a costume closet, perhaps a fantasy room that was medieval themed. Jared’s eyes were fever-bright and shiny, but vague, as if he was trying to go away in his mind and couldn't. Some barrier had been erected, some block to his escape. Jared might mentally throw himself against that block, again and again, unable to tumble away from unbearable reality and into his own thoughts.

  
“What did they do to him?” Jensen asked.

  
"Physically he's fine," Amanda said, completely forgetting the usual antagonistic tone she used when engaging with her least favorite prisoner.

  
"He's in shock."

  
"I know he's in shock," Amanda snapped. "He shouldn't be. He's not injured. It's over. I can't get him to respond to me. I don't...I don't understand."

  
"What did they do?"

  
Amanda's face twisted in distaste. "I'm not interested in recounting the details just so you can get your rocks off."

  
"I'm trying to help."

  
"Fine," Amanda said tightly. "The client used needles on him. Then cut off his breathing. Multiple times."

  
"And after."

  
"Nothing. The moment he...finished...I made him leave. Told him his session was done."

  
"Idiot," Jensen growled. "Did he even want to stay? To hold him?"

  
"Y-yes. But he'd done enough. I didn't think Jared needed to be forced to be affectionate with his tormentor."

  
"You're incompetent. You have no idea what you're doing."

  
"No, I guess not," Amanda snapped, blue eyes fiery with rage. "There wasn't a course at my business school on rape and torture!"

  
"He needs comfort. Put him next to me."

  
"I'd put him somewhere else if I could! The last thing he needs is to be at the mercy of another asshole!"

  
As their voices rose in argument, Jared moaned quietly. He tried to sink down into a ball on the floor, but the guards jerked him back out of his crouch and back onto his feet.

  
"Gentle," Amanda chided.

  
"It's not a big deal," one of the guards said, supporting Jared. The look on his face made it clear that while he was loyal to Amanda, he thought she was making a big mistake.

  
"They get left like this lots of times," the other guard said, more brusquely. "He'll snap out of it."

  
"Give him a sedative and he'll sleep it off," the first said.

  
"I can fix this," Jensen said, tempering the tone of his voice with effort. "No drugs. Just let him go. He'll come to me."

  
Unsupported by the guards, Jared sank to the floor.

  
"Jared. Jared."

  
Rocking slightly, Jared gave no indication he heard.

  
Putting some bite into his words, Jensen said, "Pet. Pet, look at me now."

  
Jared raised his head, eyes still big and glassy. But he locked onto Jensen's face.

  
"Come here, pet. Now."

  
Shivering, Jared scurried into the cell on his hands and knees. Jensen opened his arms and Jared burrowed into them, shaking. One of his knees bumped Jensen's hurt leg, making him stifle a yelp of pain. Then Jared locked on, arms around Jensen, as he buried his face in Jensen's neck.

  
"There now, you're fine," Jensen soothed. He looked up at Amanda. She was still watching, mouth tight with concern. "I got this."

  
She shifted from foot to foot. "I-I..."

  
"I said, I got this," Jensen repeated. His lips quirked up in a smile. "Anyway, you need some time to recover. Find that stick you lost and stick it back up your ass."

  
She scowled. "We're not friends. I don't need you making jokes to try and make me feel better about this situation. He's in here with you against my better judgement. Don't fuck it up."

  
"As you like."

  
Amanda backed away and swung the door close, leaving Jensen alone with Jared. Watching the skeptical looks on her guards' faces, Jensen knew she was making a big mistake, one that would explode in her face someday. Amanda either needed to toe the line 100%, or stage a revolt. Anything in between was making her look weak and indecisive. A liability the family would eliminate.

  
Still shivering, Jared was pressed close enough that his smallest movement jostled Jensen's leg. There was no painless way to extract himself, so Jensen gritted his teeth and used one hand to gently adjust Jared's knee. Jared whimpered.

  
"Hush now. You're safe. I've got you." Jensen ran his hand down Jared's back, stroking soothingly. He could feel the other man snuffling against his neck, taking in Jensen's scent. There was a rush of gratification. Jensen was pleased his smell still worked as a way to calm and ground Jared.

  
They lay quietly for a while, breathing in sync. Slowly, Jared's skin warmed and his shaking abated. His breathing began to slow and his embrace, which had seemed desperate, became less intense.

  
"Better?"

  
"Better." It sounded more like a question than a statement. Jared's voice was raspy. "I'm sorry."

  
"It's fine." Jensen pressed his lips to Jared's ear. "Are you good to talk now?"

  
"I'm sorry."

  
"Jared, can you hear me?"

  
"Yes, I hear you, Master. I'm sorry."

  
"It's okay," Jensen said, feeling a bit mystified, surprised by the old use of 'Master'. "I'm not mad. I'm not."

  
"That's good. I'm sorry."

  
"Quiet," Jensen commanded and Jared immediately subsided, growing less agitated as Jensen took charge. As much as Jensen wanted to talk--the appointment with the client had had the added value of a reconnaissance mission--he put it to the side. Jensen reached out and gripped the back of Jared's neck, massaging the tense muscles under Jared's clammy skin. His boy sighed and then sagged against Jensen. Jensen rubbed gently, occasionally whispering 'Good boy' or 'good pet,' and waiting to see if Jared would relax further.

  
"Will you tell me about it?" Jared whispered.

  
"Tell you about what?" Jensen asked.

  
"Tell me about where we'll be going," Jared said. "Tell me about the cage in your basement."

  
"Jared--"

  
"Is it nice? Don't make it too small. I don't like small spaces."

  
"I know."

  
"Is there a yard? Will you let me out sometimes? If I promise not to try and run away? Just to see the sun?"

  
Jensen chest ached. "We can go outside."

  
"I can't," Jared said sadly, as if just realizing it. "I can't go outside. I can't."

  
"We'll figure it out," Jensen soothed.

  
"You won't hurt me too bad," Jared said, growing agitated again. "Not if I'm good. You won't hurt me too bad and it won't be too dark and small and I can come out sometimes if I'm good."

  
Jared's mutterings were making Jensen uncomfortable. There were words for these emotions he was feeling--empathy, concern, guilt--feelings he'd never really bothered with before. They were weak and had nothing to do with what he really wanted. Exasperated, Jensen drew Jared in by the back of his neck and took his mouth in a kiss. Sighing, Jared immediately opened, melting into it, allowing Jensen to dominate and plunder his mouth. Jensen reached up with both hands to cup Jared's face, turning his pet's head so that he could lick deeper into Jared's mouth. He tasted like tears. Jared moaned and arched his body into Jensen's, his surprisingly hard cock rubbing against Jensen's thigh.

  
"That's my good boy."

  
"Please."

  
"Did you come for him?" Jensen demanded suddenly, surprised at his own ire. His blood was still up, he realized, the rage and jealous still simmering under his skin.

  
It was the wrong thing to say. Jared shrank back a bit, trembling.

  
"Did you?"

  
"No. I'm sorry."

  
"Did it turn you on, what he did to you?" Jensen should stop, he should. But he couldn't prevent that possessive tone from coloring his words.

  
"He wouldn't let me come. I know I was bad, I know, Master. Please."

  
The world righted itself suddenly and Jensen was no longer confused, not by Jared's strange behavior, not by his own response. It was suddenly as if he had a script he could follow. Jared was gone--not flying high, euphoric and glowing, but instead sinking deep, wallowing in his own darkness. Jensen could bring him back up, help him surface.

  
"Look at me, pet," Jensen commanded. Jared's eyes darted up, made contact, then skittered away. "You were bad. Very bad."

  
Jared cringed.

  
"You let someone else touch you. Someone who isn't me. Who do you belong to?"

  
Whimpering, Jared shook his head.

  
Holding Jared's face in a firm grip, Jensen demanded, "Who is your Master?"

  
"You. I'm sorry."

  
"You will be. He didn't fuck you. He couldn't. Where did he take you?"

  
Jared flushed. "My...my mouth."

  
"He fucked your mouth? That sweet, sweet mouth that belongs to me?"

  
"He...he choked me...with it. His cock. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't get away."

  
"You liked that, didn't you?"

  
"No. No, I couldn't breathe."

  
"But it made you hard, didn't it?"

  
"I'm sorry," Jared whispered again and Jensen understood. A client skilled enough to drop Jared down into a submissive headspace, every atom of his being focused on suckling what was placed in his mouth, existence tunneling down to the turgid cock between his lips. He remembered how single-mindedly Jared could focus on the task of sucking dick, how deep it could drop him and how quickly, how much pleasure he gained from the experience.

  
"Did he come in your mouth?"

  
"No...there was a condom." Relief swept over Jared's confused face.

  
Jensen rolled carefully onto his back, gently pushing Jared away. His boy keened at the loss of contact. Flat on his back wasn't Jensen's ideal position, but it suited the situation. Given Jared's current state of mind, Jensen felt that perhaps his pet would appreciate not having anyone looming over him.

  
"Kneel up, pet," Jensen ordered. Looking wary, Jared arranged himself on his knees beside Jensen's hip. The tie to the robe had come loose, framing Jared's bare flesh in a curtain of soft purple fabric.

  
"Jared, I forgive you."

  
His pet's eyes locked his face. Jared's soft mouth worked soundlessly, as if he wanted to object.

  
"I forgive you, provided you show me how sorry you are."

  
"I..."

  
"Take my cock in your mouth. You're going to choke yourself with it."

  
Jared's brow creased, hurt appearing and disappearing on his features. His hands reached out and then he hesitated, shaking a little.

  
Jensen shot him a stern look. "You know you deserve it. Do it."

  
Reaching out, Jared freed Jensen's cock from the confines of his pants. One hand began stroking along the shaft, bringing it to hardness, the other gently cupping Jensen's balls. Jensen bit his lip, wrestling with control, tempted to lose himself in the amazing sensation that was Jared's hands. It seemed like forever since they had touched. But strangely enough, this wasn't about what Jensen wanted or needed.

  
"No hands. Put them on your thighs. Use your mouth."

  
Jared obeyed, hands resting on his thighs, legs spread slightly for balance. He bent his back and curved over Jensen, sliding his lips around the head of Jensen's cock. At that surge of wet heat, Jensen tilted his head back and groaned.

  
"Good boy. Take me deep."

  
When Jared had sunk all the way down Jensen's length, Jensen reached out, grabbing two handfuls of Jared's hair in his fists as he gripped his pet's head. He exerted pressure, pushing Jared's head down and holding it there. The second Jared started to struggle, Jensen relaxed his grip, allowing Jared to bob up and suck air in through his nose.

  
"Again," Jensen commanded softly. "You can do it. Suck me, pet."

  
Emboldened by the fact that Jensen would release him if he struggled, Jared dipped his head back down again. He slid his mouth down until his lips were pressed against the neat thatch of hair at Jensen's groin, throat working convulsively around Jensen's cock.

  
Jensen held him down again. This time, Jared lasted longer before he struggled up and Jensen let him go, sagging back to take a breath, lips wet with spit.

  
"Good boy," Jensen approved and watched Jared relax even more at the praise. "More. Take me deep. I know you can go longer."

  
This time, it was like something twisted open in Jared's mind. As he sank down, Jensen could see it, feel it. Every inch of his boy relaxed, that awful, cringing despair dissipating. He felt the tension leave Jared's mouth, his whole face smoothing out, lips soft and accepting. This time Jared sank languidly down, Jensen deep in his throat, his head passive in Jensen's grip. Jensen let his boy rest there for a while, throat blocked but body accepting, before gently pulling him back off.

  
"Sit up, pet."

  
Jared gingerly straightened, eyes once again vague, but not with the confused misery of before. He looked calm, waiting.

Open.

  
"Very good, Jared. You didn't struggle. You were so relaxed."

  
The corners of Jared's mouth twitched in an almost-smile.

  
"Now back down, but softer now," Jensen said, directing Jared back down with firm, gentle hands. "Just suck. I want to talk to you. Yes or no. If it's 'no' just be silent. If it's 'yes', you hum a response. Can you show me now? Can you hum a 'yes'?"

  
Jared hummed around Jensen's dick and Jensen groaned. He looked down and saw Jared's heavy-lidded eyes smiling at him.

  
"Very good. Are you relaxed?"

  
A long, drawn out hum had Jensen's eyes nearly rolling back in his head.

  
"Are you a good boy?"

  
Hesitation. Jensen reached out and stroked his hand through Jared's sweat-damp tangle of hair. His pet purred softly at the contact.

  
"I thought we settled this," Jensen said sternly. "Are you a good boy?"

  
A short, soft hum. But better than nothing.

  
"Good. Good boy. My boy. It wasn't your fault, Jared. You've shown me how sorry you are. It's over."

  
Jared paused in his suckling, his gaze darting up to Jensen's face, eyes as liquid and innocent as an animal's. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw there, his head continued its gentle bobbing.

  
Jensen reached out, hand snaking under Jared's robe, stroking the satin skin of Jared's flank. His hands encountered no straps, just bare flesh. He let his hand drift farther to the back, stroking the curve of Jared's ass. The crease was slick with the remnants of whatever they had used to ease the path of the plug.

  
"They took the plug out after your appointment?"

  
A quiet hum.

  
"I want to make you come, pet," Jensen said and yes, this, this part, wasn't just for Jared's benefit. "Do you want to come?"

  
A longer, louder hum.

  
"You're hard right now, aren't you?" Jensen let his hand drift around, clasp Jared's cock loosely in his fist, feeling it buck against his hand at the touch.

  
This hum sounded more like a groan.

  
"Hard for me and only me."

  
Jensen pulled Jared's head tenderly off his cock, hearing his pet's whine of disappointment.

  
"Come here."

  
Jensen beckoned his boy over helping him slide over to straddle Jensen's waist, robe falling around them, covering their bodies.

  
"Can I? Please?" Jared whispered, looking beautifully vulnerable.

  
Jensen was nearly shaking with the need to pounce. He wanted to tumble his boy onto his back, hold him down and fuck him furiously. Claim what was his. Regrettably, his leg wouldn't allow for it. He met Jared's eyes and nodded once, not trusting himself to prevent more cruel, imperious demands tumbling out of his mouth.

  
With eager, sensuous movement, Jared reached back and pressed the head of Jensen's cock to the entrance of his body. He sank down slowly, groaning as his body swallowed every inch of Jensen's dick.

  
"Perfect," Jensen breathed. "Go ahead. Ride slow, make us both come."

  
Jared hesitated. "Will you?"

  
"What is it, pet?"

  
"Will you come inside me?"

  
"Yes of course," Jensen said. Then, more thoughtfully, "I want to."

  
Jared sighed and then he was moving, hips rocking almost lazily as he rose and fell. His movements were small and slow and Jensen reached out, felt Jared's thigh muscles shaking with the effort, as if he hadn't much strength left in his legs to ride Jensen.

  
"Pushed to your limits today, weren't you, pet?"

  
"I'm sorry..."

  
"No more of that," Jensen scolded. "You were forgiven. Go as slow as you need to."

  
Jared toppled down to rest against Jensen's chest, a heavy warm weight, his hips still rolling, ass jerking with slow hunger. Jensen reached out to wrap his boy up, one hand at Jared's neck, the other on his clenching ass, coaxing his movements along. Jensen thought of the last time they were together, Jared demanding in his need, holding himself open, taking Jensen's cock with an almost violent joy. This was different. It was slow and hot and Jensen petted his boy and murmured soft endearments into Jared's ear, until they both finally released, Jared first and Jensen after, almost a sigh of completion, instead of their usual explosive coupling. Jensen tidied them up with the hem of the robe as best he could and Jared burrowed back against him, asleep near moments after moaning his orgasm into Jensen's ear.

  
He dozed for a few hours and Jensen held him, not in the least tempted to sleep himself. There was much to plan and now that Jared was back, safe enough in his arms, he could focus better. He would die before he would live caged.

  
His mind did keep circling back to Jared, however. The cage in his basement, Jared at his mercy, and Jensen was annoyed that it wasn't the pleasant distraction it had been before. He kept seeing the way Jared had described it--his boy limp and spiritless in confinement, like a dog who'd given up on life. Jared wouldn't die before he was caged, they weren't the same, that Jensen knew. And yet...

  
Mentally shaking himself, Jensen pushed away the doubt and firmed his resolve. He had made his decision, taken what he wanted that first night. And he had laid it bare between the two of them that last night in the cabin, his cane striking Jared's thighs, the gas mask on the table between them a promise of who Jensen was and what would come. The time at the cabin--intimate, sexy, more than Jensen had ever known or had before--he was looking at it through the rosy-colored glasses of nostalgia. What he would have once Jared was fully under his command would be hotter, even more satisfying.

  
Jared stirred and his eyes fluttered open. They were clearer, more alert, still sad but no longer so damn tragic. His eyes searched Jensen's face, lips thinning as everything that had happened ran through his mind. Then he sighed and simply snuggled closer to Jensen.

  
"How are you?"

  
"Peachy," Jared replied. Then he grimaced. "Throat feels like I've had two cocks shoved down it, oh wait, it has."

  
"And there's my boy."

  
It was a relief: Jared's return to a clear mind, his resiliency, his humor. Jensen couldn't say why this time Jared's pitiful state of mind had so discomfited him. He remembered taking Jared down the first time, his boy plaintively pleading to go home, face wet with tears. It had been delicious. Maybe it had been because someone else had caused Jared's free-fall.

  
Or maybe Jensen had truly been unsure that Jared would snap back out of it.

  
Jared said, "Interesting technique you had back there, getting me out of my...funk."

  
"You were so deep you were drowning, pet. I had to pull you back up. You weren't listening to reason. You were nearly sick with it."

  
"Take my dick and call me in the morning?"

  
"Something like that."

  
"Maybe you should open your own clinic," Jared quipped. "Sell your services."

  
Jared's face fell with that last comment, and there was a painful silence.

  
Jensen smiled. "I'm not sure I could take on the stream of huge, guilty men coming into my office to take their angst out on my cock."

  
"Flattering description of me," Jared muttered.

  
"It wasn't your fault though," Jensen continued. "Not what happened today with the client. And not what happened with Jeff."

  
Jared's eyes widened in shock. "H-how did you...?"

  
"It wasn't hard. Misha's not exactly subtle. And then you said, 'I've been someone's personal sex robot for months'. 'Someone' not 'your'. So there was someone else. Then they locked up your ass and had the client use a condom. You shouldn't have been an STI risk, they already have my tests on file. And you specifically asked me to come inside you, claim you that way, all the while apologizing for the client when you clearly didn't have any choice in the matter. So you were also apologizing for something else, too."

  
"Congratulations, Sherlock Holmes."

  
"It really doesn't take a coked-up, violin playing genius to figure it out. It was pretty obvious."

  
"Yeah?" Jared snarled, trying to roll away. Jensen held him fast. "I fucked your dad, okay! Happy?!"

  
"Not at all. It's more likely that he fucked you."

  
Jared stopped struggling and looked away. Then he said in a small voice, "Are you mad?"

  
"At him? Furious. But frankly I've been pushed so far on the spectrum of impotent rage that I'm no longer sure what I'm feeling. What's at the absolute end of anger?"

  
"Peace and zen?"

  
"I'm feeling less like saying 'om' and more like committing mass murder. But emotion isn't a luxury I can afford right now."

  
"Who are you going to kill when you have the 'luxury'? Him or me?"

  
Jensen looked at Jared steadily. "I told you you'd already been forgiven."

  
"You can't kill your own father, Jensen."

  
Jensen dropped his voice to a murmur. "He's not my real father. And I already have. But no, I was thinking about killing Misha. Probably Matt. Whoever gets between us on our way out of this cell."

  
"You don't have to kill anyone," Jared whispered softly.

  
"If it comes down to it, I will."

  
"I counted the doors on my way out."

  
"Did you get the elevator code?"

  
"No. That's not the point. I'm talking about the others. The other slaves down here. Only three red lights. There are only three of them."

  
"So?" Jensen sounded bored.

  
"So it wouldn't take much--"

  
"No."

  
"Jensen..."

  
"We're going up and out, pet. We're not heading back down to fiddle with a bunch of locked doors."

  
"We can't leave them here."

  
"Watch me."

  
"I know what it's like, down here. I'm sorry, but you do, too. How can you not do something?"

  
"I don't care about them. I care about you."

  
"But--"

  
"We have one shot," Jensen said. "We won't get another one. This is how it has to be."

  
"I'll give you anything you want."

  
Jensen blinked. "You're serious."

  
"Yes."

  
"Ridiculous. And as much as I'd love to hold you to that promise, I can't. It's a bad plan and its failure means my death. Sentiment won't see us free."

  
Jared quieted. They lay together, resting in silence. After a while, Jensen reached out to stroke Jared's tousled head. Jared allowed it with a weary acceptance.

  
"My mind is tired," Jensen admitted.

  
"Then turn it off for a while," Jared whispered. "We probably have a day or two before they line up a client for us. And you still need your trip to the chic little slave salon for your basement makeover."

  
Jensen stared. "Me?"

  
"I'd say I wouldn't wish it on anyone but," Jared smiled sadly, " I kinda wish it on you."

  
Jensen sniffed with injured dignity.

  
"You do need a shave," Jared said thoughtfully.

  
"This is only temporary," Jensen murmured, more to himself than to Jared.

  
"For you it is."

  
"It won't be bad with me, Jared. We're both going to be so happy."

  
"I'm sure that will be true, with time," Jared agreed softly. Jensen tilted his head to look at his boy. Jared wasn't being sarcastic, not this time. His eyes were shiny with unshed tears, but he met Jensen's gaze and nodded a bit unsteadily.

  
"Resigned to be mine, finally?"

  
"I'm yours," Jared said, voice raw. "I think that's pretty clear. The way I respond to you. The way I need you. I don't want to live out my life as your slave. There just doesn't seem to be a way around it."

  
"Mine," Jensen whispered, marveling at the idea of it.

  
"If you think about it, what else can I do?" Jared said bitterly. "I have nothing. At least this is something I seem to be good at. And...I love you."

  
Jensen looked at him.

  
"Not saying it doesn't make it untrue. I love you. I missed you."

  
Jensen reached out and gripped the back of his pet's neck. He watched Jared's eyelashes flutter at the sensation of being held by the nape of his neck. In the dim light, he couldn't see the blue in Jared's eyes, the way that color dominated in bright sunlight. He couldn't see the gold and honey strands of Jared's brown hair, the way it shimmered in the daylight. In darkness his boy's colors took on the opaque blackness of a spill of ink. For a moment, Jensen held those brighter colors in his mind's eye. He had a sudden image of tumbling Jared onto a field of grass on a clear, summer's day, how his pet's flushed skin would look against a backdrop of green. How Jared's eyes would sparkle in the light as he laughed...

  
He'd never made Jared laugh. He'd never have Jared outside on a sunny day. Suddenly that lack made his chest ache.

  
Ridiculous, romantic nonsense.

  
Jensen said, "You could have saved us so much trouble."

  
"I know that, too. Resistance has just made very thing that much worse. It's like a curse. So I'm not," Jared said sadly, "I'm not fighting any more. It's meant to be."

  
"You're mine."

  
"Yours. Wherever I am or whatever happens to me. I'm yours."

  
Thrilled, Jensen cuddled his boy close. It was everything he'd wanted to hear. Everything he wanted. But some small part of him, some weak impulse that tasted like guilt, wanted to tell Jared that it wasn't a curse. It was just bad luck, coincidence, and Jared was no more responsible for the night that he and Jensen had met than he was for Jeff, or for being here now. It was an absolutely absurd idea and one that wouldn't serve Jensen's interests at all.

  
Jensen swallowed it down.

  
Emotion had no place here.


	21. tête-à-tête

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS, people, mind the TAGS.

Jared awoke with a shout, arms flailing.  He'd been dreaming—a nightmare—of the client from the previous appointment.  Of silver tape on his face, blocking his mouth and then his nose.  Smothering him.  But in the dream, the client never peeled back the tape, allowing him a quick, sweet gasp of air.  Instead, he wound strand after sticky strand around Jared's face, blocking out all light and air and sound.  Cocooning him.  Suffocating him.

"Ow!" Two strong hands shoving him firmly back, but not unkindly.

Blinking, Jared jackknifed into a sitting position, back against the cell wall, breath coming in gasps.  It took a moment, but then he realized where he was.  Reality was not reassuring.

The cell. Misha's betrayal. Jensen.

Jared sighed gustily, one hand on his pounding heart, and tried to calm down.

"You okay, pet?" Jensen asked, reclining on their shared mattress.  Only the furrow between his eyes gave any indication of pain.  One of Jared's flailing knees or feet must have connected with his injured leg.

"Everything is awesome, thanks."

"Nightmare?"

"Duh."

"That's not a particularly polite tone," Jensen said pleasantly, but even in the poor light Jared could see the warning gleam in Jensen's green eyes.

"No, I suppose it's not," Jared said, feeling a bit annoyed at the reprimand, before remembering that he had committed to belonging to Jensen. Then, "I'm sorry, Jensen."

Jensen frowned even more, and then, in deference to their previous conversations, nodded grudgingly in forgiveness.  He was probably adding Jared's surliness to a list he kept—all the ways Jared had been impudent and all the ways he would pay for them once Jensen had the leisure to do so—but Jensen said nothing and Jared certainly wasn't going to give him any ideas.

They had had three days together in the cell, almost a holiday of sorts, to Jared's thinking.  In the running for most fucked-up vacation ever, but Jared wasn't being pimped out and Jensen wasn't being terribly demanding, what with his broken leg.  There had been brief interruptions—Amanda checking on Jared's well-being and the usual deliveries of meals—but other than that it had been a quiet moment out of time, Jared lying in his Master's arms, and whispered discussions of both the escape, and more chillingly, Jensen's plans for their future.

On the first day after the client, Jensen had corrected Jared, his tone gentle but strict, reminding Jared to call him 'Master' when addressing him.  Jared had quieted for a moment, gaze turned inward, but instead of evading the issue or raising an argument, he had looked directly at Jensen and said softly, "I want to call you 'Jensen'."

"I'd prefer a higher level of etiquette," Jensen had returned.

"No you wouldn't.  You get off on me fighting you.  You don't want some mousy thing that refers to himself in the third person."

"True.  But I enjoy you calling me 'Master'.  It's my preference."

"Calling you 'Jensen' helps me remember," Jared had said.

"Remember what?"

"Everything."

"I should never have made it your safe word," Jensen had huffed, sounding a bit frustrated, but then had stopped, mouth open, when Jared had smiled, truly smiled, so widely that dimples had appeared in his cheeks.

"Exactly so," Jared had said deliberately.

"Unbelievable."

"You have no reason to complain," Jared had said, "It's a big 'fuck you' to this whole situation, but you get a little dose of my rebellion every time I say your name, so it works out for us both."

"Fine.  I know I'm going to regret this."

"Maybe you will.  Jensen."

"Maybe I will," Jensen had said, and then, smiling evilly, "And that's 'one'."

Now their small reprieve was up.  Amanda had been in the evening before, mentioning that today they would have a client.  Small wonder Jared was up early, shaking off a nightmare, only to find himself still living in one.

"What fresh hell through yonder window breaks," Jared muttered.

"I'm pretty sure that's not the right quote.  Come back down here."

Obediently, Jared reclined on the mattress and let Jensen wrap him up in his arms.

"Sleeping next to you is a painful endeavor," Jensen said.

"Sorry."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Jared shook his head. "Do you ever have nightmares, Jensen?"

"I never remember my dreams," Jensen said lightly.  He leaned in to affectionately nuzzle Jared's ear, then he whispered, "Nervous about tonight?"

"Of course," Jared whispered back.

"Trial run," Jensen murmured. "I'm not turning down the opportunity to run if it presents itself, but we probably won't get out tonight.  Let's just see what the protocol is.  More information gathering. Understood?"

"You're the boss, boss."

"Quite.  You don't have to be nervous.  I'll be there, grounding you, looking after you."

"I reserve the right to be freaked the fuck out about all of this," Jared replied tightly. Because Jensen wouldn't be in control.  The client would.  Couldn’t Jensen see that?

"That’s two—"

"Oh my God, count my infractions in your head, why don't you?! I'm already so scared I'm having nightmares about this, I don't need a reminder I have a dick whipping waiting for me at the end of all this!"

"That's quite enough," Jensen snapped coldly. "On your knees."

Jared rolled away and onto his knees, hands behind his back.  He looked down and away, his hair tumbling into his face, jaw clenched.

"You're out of line."

"Sorry."

"I'm here," Jensen soothed.  He sat up with effort, then reached on to stroke and grip the back of Jared's neck. "Lean on me.  Let go and give it all over to me. You said you'd try."

"It's hard," Jared muttered.  The petting helped.  It all helped in a way—this submission—but not enough.  Jared knew what it was called in the real world: 24/7, people signing on willingly for it, giving up control of their whole lives for peace and for pleasure. It was one thing to choose to put your trust in someone that way, quite another when it seemed there were no other options.

Back at Jeff's, Tim had encouraged Jared to exist in this state and Jared could see the benefits.  He did feel calmer, on his knees.  Calmer, deferring to Jensen.   He'd thought it would be much easier when he'd decided to accept his fate.  Perhaps if they weren't both chained in the bowels of a basement, if Jared couldn’t see how the protection he was accepting wouldn't protect him at all.

"I know it's hard, pet."

"Easy for you to say.  It's not your ass on the line."

"It absolutely is my ass on the line," Jensen replied under his breath, petting Jared's hair. "It's my head as well."

And that was the key reason why Jared wasn't particularly soothed.  Jensen put on a good front, his tone breezy and unconcerned, as if what was happening couldn't touch him.  Invincible. Jared needed only to look at Jensen's leg, the careful way he moved, the pain hidden under a smooth, unflappable expression, to know that Jensen was just a man.  Human and fragile and now a slave, like Jared, despite his façade.

If it was a façade.  Maybe Jensen was just that arrogant.  Maybe he didn't see the situation they were in.

That wasn't reassuring either. A source of stability that wasn't stable at all.

"I just want to stop feeling," Jared sighed, still shivering a bit with anxiety. "I want my drugs."

"After the appointment," Jensen said absently, still petting, his faraway tone of voice letting Jared know he had half a mind on his plotting. "Give Amanda the puppy eyes.  She'll dose you up good."

Amanda had indeed been generous with the pills she had been giving Jared the past few days.  Jensen wouldn't take anything—and none of the guards seemed too interested in wrestling him down—but he hadn't said a word about Jared's enthusiasm for the drugs or their effect.  He just held his boy, let Jared float away, neither encouraging nor censorial.

Part of Jared had idly wondered if he would wake up from his chemical haze and find Jensen rutting on him, taking advantage because he could.  But in the end, he'd found himself not terribly bothered by the idea.  If it did happen, it would be Jensen, who Jared could now admit he loved and cared for, the man who owned him.  But so far he'd woken each time muzzy and unmolested, probably a testament to Jensen's leg that any sort of courtesy.

"You don't seem to be too worried about my descent into drug addiction."

"You're not an addict," Jensen answered, voice maddeningly calm. "Besides, if we get out of here, I'll be controlling what you put in your body.  No chance of any excesses on my watch."

"When."

"Pardon?"

"It's 'when' not 'if', right?"

"Of course," Jensen said smoothly, after a brief hesitation. "No drugs, but is there some other way I can help you be less afraid?"

"Hold me?" Jared asked, hating how needy he sounded.

"Always.  I promise you, I'll never withhold affection to punish you."

Jared lay back down and curled up close to Jensen, falling into the smell and feel of his Master.  It was true that the cells weren't cold, but neither were they particularly warm either and being bare-skinned left him feeling slightly chilled.  The purple robe had disappeared for cleaning and had not made a reappearance.  It was a yet unanswered question for Jared: how long would Jensen be allowed to keep his clothes?

"You're not scared?" Jared asked.

"I'm not looking forward to it," Jensen replied. "It certainly doesn’t hit any of my buttons.  I don’t like to share nor do I like being told what to do.  But Jared, it will be fine.  It's just sex."

"Just sex?" Jared murmured. "Is that how you see everything that's happened to me, Jensen?  Just sex?  Have you…have you ever had anyone do that to you?  Just take what they wanted?"

"Some tried," Jensen replied, a viciously smug tone creeping into his voice. "When I was younger, smaller.  They regretted it."

"What would you do?" Jared asked, voice sharp and bitter, annoyed at Jensen's obtuseness. "What would you do if someone did to you what you've done to me?"

"Careful," Jensen warned.

"Or what?"

"Or I'll try to put you down physically, which will make you feel better but will probably hurt me," Jensen snapped. Then more calmly, "I know what you need, pet.  You need to struggle; you need someone to strike at you first so you can fight back.  But I'm in no shape to do that now."

Jared looked away, ashamed.  How was it that Jensen could take what Jared was feeling and make it about something else?  He'd been so sure he was upset about one thing; it had been so clear in his mind.  But was it really just about needing a physical release?

Echoes of Jeff in the cell.  Every outrage, every rebellion, just a cry for more subjugation.  Jared only protesting so he'd be silenced, put on his knees. Was that really true?

"Trust in me," Jensen said and Jared nodded numbly and put it away. Unspoken, the idea that Jared should trust in Jensen because he couldn't trust in himself.  Jared rested, not speaking, trying just to be, and let Jensen carry the worry for both of them.

"Jensen," Jared said after a while.  His head was pillowed on the warm expanse of Jensen's chest.

"What is it, pet?"

"Do you ever think about that night? The night we first met?"

"All the time," Jensen said, heat creeping into his voice.  His hand, which had been stroking Jared's back, drifted lower.

"No, I mean after.  When I got in your car.  Do you ever think you made the wrong choice?"

"No.  I wanted you, I took you," Jensen replied. "Would you rather I killed you?"

Jared sighed. "Those weren't the only choices."

"What, take you to the E.R.? The police?  You would have been put down here, only quicker.  The cops are in the Pellegrinos' pockets.  Dirty. Everyone knows that."

"You could have taken me home," Jared said.

"You had no home."

Rolling away slightly, Jared lifted his head and met Jensen's eyes. "Your home."

Jensen smiled. "You have a fantasy you'd like to spin? Go ahead.  As distractions go, it's perfect."

"I think I dreamed about this," Jared said. "It wasn't a nice dream.  Something…I don't remember.  But it made me think about you taking me home.  As if you'd really felt bad about what you did."

Annoyed, Jensen rolled his eyes. "We already had this conversation.  I made my point on your thighs with a cane."

"It's a fantasy," Jared countered. "A distraction.  I can have one.  Or am I making you feel bad?"

"I don't have any regret.  Or remorse.  Go ahead."

"I would have been angry. Scared.  Hurt.  You would have had to calm me down, convince me to stay.  I would have had to let you take care of me, touch me.  You could have built that first level of trust, that first night."

"I'm not interested in coaxing you like some shy, green-broke horse," Jensen said. "I never needed to woo you."

"But that's exactly what you did," Jared answered, eyes shiny with emotion. "Maybe it was Tim's idea, but that's what you did.  Building trust.  Little intimacies. Only imagine it was real.  Not a trick.  Imagine what we had at the cabin was what you really wanted."

"It was nice," Jensen conceded. "It was a memorable time."

"Not as nice as it could have been," Jared argued. "If they're been no lies between us. No manipulation.  If you'd more concerned about me recovering, feeling safe.  If we'd started with…friendship."

"Friendship.  How decidedly boring. And then what?" Jensen asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Because so far it doesn’t sound like I'm getting what I want."

"I don’t know," Jared said, ignoring the way Jensen was baiting him. "Dating? Dinner? Falling in love? Two people connecting, moving past tragedy."

"Oh, pet," Jensen sighed. "Do you really think we could have had any of that? A killer with mob connections and a penchant for rape, bringing you red roses and taking you out to dinner?  How would that have worked?"

"You said," Jared answered, voice careful, "that I carved out a space for you to be.  That I didn't try to change you.  Because that's what love is."

Jensen sighed, and then spoke, a finality in his tone indicating that he was done with the conversation. "You forget one simple thing, pet.  Nothing you're describing is anything that I want."

"It's just a fantasy," Jared said wearily, putting his head back down.

"Not my fantasy."

"No, I know." Jared said. "But if you'd done it that way, neither of us would be here.  Every step I've taken has only made things worse, but maybe I'm not the only one marching down the wrong path."

"Hm," Jensen murmured, noncommittally, and Jared let them both fall into quiet again.  Finally it was late enough that their morning meal came, neat boxes on cafeteria style trays, much the same as what Jared had eaten in Tim's basement.  It would have been easier for Jared to feel like he was getting a little of his own back, if Jensen had seemed at all upset about what he was being served.

"Are you going to be difficult again, today?" Jensen asked and Jared sighed and sat up, reaching reluctantly for his meal.

"I'm not being difficult."

"Refusing to eat is a teenage girl's trick."

"I'll eat.  It's just…it's hard."

"You starve yourself and they'll shove a tube down your nose, feed you that way," Jensen said dispassionately.  Then, more thoughtfully, "You could just tell me why."

"A nasal tube might be preferable," Jared responded, fork in hand.  It probably wasn't poisoned or drugged; they had no reason, he was taking his drugs like a good slave.  Probably not poisoned, but Misha was who knows where, fingers hovering over the pots and pans maybe, or maybe not.  No way to be sure, the only thing he was sure of was that he wasn't telling Jensen anything more, not about any of his time at Jeff's.  Jared wasn't stupid enough to think that confiding in someone who thrilled to his fear was a good idea.

"Jared, eat," Jensen said sharply, as he had at every meal prior, and Jared sighed and dutifully started to choke it down, once again giving in to the total loss of control.  It was fine or it wasn't, put it in someone else's hands.  Jensen watched him, that same small furrow on his brow, displeased despite Jared's obedience.

"I'm trying," Jared finally blurted out after Jensen's stare became too much.

"I know, pet.  Hush.  I was just thinking.  Thinking about our first real meal together."

"The ribs," Jared said, remembering his enthusiasm, his pleasure, sauce on his lips and fingers, and then he was gagging, up and rushing to the toilet to vomit everything, his throat burning.

"Jared," Jensen said, once Jared had subsided to dry heaves, his tone both disappointed and worried.

"I'm sorry."

"I want you to come back and try again."

"Please don't make me," Jared said, shivering.  He stumbled to the sink, ankle chain clanking, and splashed water in his mouth.

"We can try it with you on your knees and I can feed—"

"Please don’t make me," Jared repeated. "I'm too nervous to eat.  One day won't hurt.  Please."

"Okay, pet.  It's fine."

Jared toppled down to the mattress and curled up in a ball.  He listened to Jensen eating, mechanical, concerned about fueling his body more than any epicurean considerations.  In a short time the other man was done and there was a tender hand once again stroking through Jared's hair.

"Can we go on vacation?" Jared murmured quietly.

"Pardon?"

"Later…if, if it all works out and I'm being good, can we go somewhere?  I won't run."

"I'd hunt you down if you tried," Jensen said playfully.

"I'm sure.  With a harpoon gun."

"If you're thinking about me shoving something long and hard into your body—"

"The beach," Jared said, then chuckled bitterly. "I used to love it. All that sand and sky.  You can run for miles."

"It's a fantasy," Jensen reminded him gently. "You can imagine whatever you want."

"Bonfire on the beach, then," Jared murmured. "Beer and…and s'mores, so many my stomach aches."

"That sounds like a terrible pairing."

"You're not invited, then."

"Am I the Jensen that rescued you in this fantasy or the Jensen I am in reality?" Jensen asked thoughtfully.

"No. Neither. We met in a coffee shop. You almost took my latte, because of the way the barista mangled the spelling of my name. Then you asked for my number."

"Jared," Jensen said patiently, "You can't hide your head in the sand like this."

"I thought we were playing a game."

"We were. But certain truths have to be faced."

"You're terrible at this," Jared informed him loftily. "Anyway, that's the whole point to this.  Reality.  The goal being I'm eventually so dependent on you that I'm actually happy in my cage. Singing kumbaya in my enslavement. What's wrong with some additional fodder to help me get there sooner?"

"I don't want to play anymore," Jensen said, frowning.

"Why not?"

"You're making me feel…sad. I don’t like it."

"I thought you didn’t have any regret or remorse."

"I don't," Jensen replied, voice sharper. "That's not it. I'm not having second thoughts.  I'm just tired of worrying about you.  Worrying that you're breaking."

"Haven't I broken already?"

"No," Jensen said coldly. "But I dislike my concern.  Stop being so tragic or I will shatter you myself just to get it over with and end the tension."

There wasn't much to say after that. 

A guard came to collect the trays and then shortly after Amanda appeared, followed by two guards, a third pushing a wheelchair.  Jared raised an eyebrow at the straps on the arm rests and foot rests and began to snigger.

"What's so funny?"

" _Do you still hear the lambs, Clarice_?"

"I can bring in a face mask," Amanda quipped, although her face was humorless. "Are you getting in this without a fuss, or am I having them put a bullet in your head?  Because I know which one I'd prefer."

"Cooperating," Jensen said mildly. "I'm at your service." And he allowed the guards to cautiously help him up and into the chair, strapping him down tightly.

"Enjoy your makeover," Jared said brightly. Jensen gave him a withering look.

"You're next," Amanda said, voice much gentler. Her eyes drifted over Jared, concerned, and he cut his gaze away, uncomfortable under her scrutiny.  He didn't want to know what she saw in him, how she saw him.

Then Jensen was wheeled away and the cell door slammed.  Perhaps another time Jared might have been stressed and afraid to be alone, but after days of close quarters with his Master, finally alone with no one to be disappointed in him but himself, he felt only relief.  He relaxed a bit, put the future away as much as he could muster, and tumbled into a light doze.


	22. Loss of Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More violence than sex in this one.

Blood-red room.  Red velvet hangings on the walls, dark red carpeting, red satin sheets on the large playground of a bed against one wall.  To Jensen's way of thinking, it was a bit like standing inside someone's internal organs, slick and crimson and crudely fragile, all that red spilling out everywhere.  But he stifled his unease, his distaste, and muttered, "Drapes could use a bit of vacuuming."

"Carpet's pretty clean," was Jared's low reply.  Jensen's pet was on his knees on the 'playroom' floor, naked and coiffed and clean, thanks to Sebastian.  Jared's trip to be groomed and seen by the older man had seemingly passed much better than the first time.  Jared had come back to the second basement level calm, muzzy from drugs, and immediately tumbled into a quiet nap.  They had shared some information when Jared woke: Nicki had not been present at the session to take pictures and Sebastian had been his usual professional self.  Nothing particularly pertinent to their escape attempt.

Jensen had come back from his own appointment freshly shaved, hair crisp with gel and smelling of a cologne far different from his own, crisply marine instead of woodsy.  Jared had buried his face in his Master's neck, breathed deep, and proclaimed it, "Different, but good."

"Glad you approve," Jensen had responded dryly.  He had been on edge, unused to being restrained and manhandled.  It had been his choice, he was cooperating, Jensen had told himself.  He was allowing it to happen.  Even so, the experience had scraped his nerves raw.

"You looked kind of funny when they wheeled you back in," Jared had mused. "Like a cat that's dignity has been injured.  Like you made the leap for the kitchen counter and fell off instead."

"Like a cat? You think this is funny?"

"Well, yeah."

"I'd watch my step if I were you," Jensen had responded, feeling testy. "I'll have a whip in my hands tonight.  I'm sure I'll get the chance to get my licks in."

"Could be a whip.  Or a paddle.  Or a rubber chicken.  You won't know until we get there," Jared had said, yawning. "Also, are those highlights?"

"I'm going to blister your ass," Jensen had muttered, but his voice had held no heat.  He'd rolled over gingerly on the mattress and turned his back to Jared, sulking a bit, until the guards had come to collect them both.

Now standing next to Jared, one hand resting on his pet's shoulder, Jensen shifted on his feet.  Standing hurt, it ached, but he pushed the pain away.  It was not ideal, but it was manageable.   The black boot that stabilized his leg neatly blended in with the dark leather of his pants.  It was noticeable mainly because Jensen's gait was somewhat stiff-legged, a limp he couldn't quite disguise, the knee less mobile. The boot helped a lot, but it only took the smallest shift for Jensen to realize that while he could walk now and yes, probably manage an awful lurching run, fighting was going to be difficult.

The only other thing he wore was a thick black collar, more utilitarian than decorative, made of thick neoprene and locked onto Jensen's neck. There was a black box attached to the side of the collar with a blinking red light and when the guards had placed it on him before releasing the straps on the chair, Jensen knew this was a bad addition to their escape plans.

"A mere complication, pet," Jensen had murmured reassuringly when Jared had looked at the collar worriedly.  It was impossible not to be a bit alarmed, but Jensen pushed down his reaction, hiding any dismay behind a practiced, placid expression.  They had already discussed the possibility that it might take an appointment—or two, or three—before they could act and escape.  Each excursion to the upper basement level netted more information.  It was still frustrating, however, as Jensen's need for detailed planning warred with his desire for freedom.

Jensen pushed his doubts away and focused on the garish guts-red suite, cataloging the contents of the room and pondering the identity of the client.  There was the bed and a cushy armchair, an armoire with the usual implements, a large screen TV on one wall and a camcorder on a tripod.  But the most troubling item in the room was a wooden spanking bench—very similar to the one Jensen had used that first night with Jared—sitting on a large black mat of easy to clean rubber.  Same large freestanding mirror, positioned right in front of it.  The setup clashed with the overblown feel of the room—more harsh and menacing than passionately decadent—and alarm bells were going off in Jensen's head the longer he looked at it.  Beside Jensen on his knees, Jared shivered, but Jensen couldn't bring himself to utter any meaningless words to calm his pet down.

The door buzzed and Jensen felt himself straightening at the sound, Jared coming to attention beside him, pushing up into perfect kneeling form.  He squeezed his pet's shoulder in one small gesture of reassurance before the door opened and they were able to see who the client was.

"Son of a bitch," Jared exclaimed.

"My mother was a lovely woman," Misha countered mildly.  He creaked into the room in his own leather outfit, Matt a step behind him dressed in a revealing harness of crisscrossing straps.  Pale bare skin peeked between the strips of black leather. Misha tumbled lazily into the armchair, as relaxed as if he was lounging at home, and Matt took up position beside him protectively.

Jensen cocked an eyebrow. "What's with the clothes?"

"I like to play dress up," Misha said, shrugging. "I thought I'd get into the spirit of the occasion. And Matt looks adorable.  It's a bit chafing, though."

"You're the client," Jensen said.

"Of course I was going to be the first client! What would be the point of my revenge if I didn't get to watch?"

Jensen suddenly lunged, taking two quick steps towards Misha.  Matt tensed, stepping forward, but Misha quickly reached into a pocket and pulled out a remote.  He thumbed the controls and a jolt of electricity suddenly surged through Jensen's body, stealing his breath.  He gave a cut off shout and toppled to the floor with a thud.

"Hold your position, Jared," Misha said sharply and Jensen turned his head, taking in the sight of Jared frozen in the act of rising to his feet, face tense with concern.  Misha waggled the remote.

"Ow," Jensen gritted out. 

"Like the collar?  My idea.  You're a force of nature, Jensen.  Unstoppable with a gun, deadly with your fists.  I'm not an idiot, I've seen what you can do.  A little thing like a broken leg isn't going to stop you, and broken bones heal.  Of course there needed to be another assurance of your obedience.  That's the first setting, pretty mild.  A lot like touching the wire on a low-level electric fence.  If I use the highest one, we're going to need Seb in here with the defibrillator."

"Smart," Jensen muttered, panting a little.  He hauled himself off the floor and back on his feet with effort.

"Thank you," Misha said grandly. "Now, I want to play and I don't want to be interrupted by half-baked escape attempts—"

"Or me going for your throat," Jensen said coolly.

"Nothing kills my erection quicker than people trying to murder me," Misha agreed.

"I doubt any of this is arousing to you at all," Jensen said.

"It's not my thing," Misha admitted with a frown, palming his crotch absently. "Also, I've had quite a bit of cocaine.  But I'm willing to try something new, especially if it puts you through hell.  I'm always extremely excited by routing my enemies."

"What do you want?" Jared asked hoarsely.

Misha shook a finger playfully at Jared. "Ah, ah. I don't think you're supposed to talk in this scenario.  Isn't it just sighs and moans and 'Yes, sir, more, please'?"

"What do you want?" Jensen repeated, hand back on Jared's shoulder.

"I want to take everything away from you," Misha said pleasantly. "Everything you value.  I've already taken your freedom.  The other stuff is harder.  Things like wealth or fame—you don't care about things like that.  Even family—what I've done to your father and sister probably doesn't even bother you.  There are only two things I can really strike at: your sense of self, and Jared."

Under Jensen's hand, Jared tensed up at the sound of his name on Misha's lips.  Jensen glanced down at where his own hand rested on Jared's shoulder, and saw the skin whitening around where his fingers were involuntarily digging in.  He forced his hand to relax.

"Why him?" Misha continued. "That's what I could never figure out."  At Misha's nod, Matt walked over and turned on the TV.  A video began to play, sound on low, and Jensen watched as Jared's face filled the screen. 

Jensen blinked.  On screen, his pet was clearly scared—eyes shiny, mouth working nervously to answer the questions being fired at him by some off-screen interrogator.  It was plainly a video Mark had filmed when he had first abducted Jared, before he had given him to Jensen.  But the questions being asked weren’t what had Jensen craning his neck to look closer, his eyes locked on the screen.

Jensen was seeing Jared as he had been.  The Jared that had existed before he had been taken into a room much like this one, stripped of his clothes, and presented to Jensen to torment.  It was easy for Jensen to remember what he had initially asked for: a big man, strong and muscular and difficult to dominate physically.

He was beautiful.  Skin much darker than Jensen remembered; sweat gleaming in the hollow of Jared's tanned throat.  His body looked bigger, heavier, filling out the button-down he was wearing.  Even afraid, nervous, the Jared in the video set his shoulders back, his head held high, as he responded defensively to being questioned.

"Mesmerizing, isn’t it?" Misha murmured, causing Jensen to cut his gaze back at the man lounging in the armchair, leg over one arm, foot swinging idly. "He looks so different than he does now.  But try this one.  Go ahead, Matt."

Matt forwarded the video and now the footage was grainier, black and white, obviously footage from a security camera.  An interior shot of a bar filled with people, but the man behind the counter was immediately recognizable. Jared. Moving lithely in a tight, dark t-shirt, Jared filled glasses, bantered with a woman sitting at the end of the bar, flashed a brilliant smile as a man slid a generous tip his way.  There was a confidence, a surety about Jared, which Jensen had never seen before.  He felt a hot rush of jealousy as the Jared on film gifted someone else—a woman—with another dazzling grin, a silent laugh.

Jensen looked down. On his knees, pale and quiet, Jared regarded the TV, his face drawn.  He didn't much resemble the man they were watching.  He'd been filed down, scraped small, not just the paler skin and the thinner frame.  Something else, something intangible, had been pared away and Jensen was suddenly furious.  This missing part of Jared had been given away to anyone—anyone!—as easy as breathing.  A piece of Jared given to strangers but not to Jensen.

A small, ugly internal voice was telling Jensen that he was responsible for stripping this part of Jared away.  He flicked it away with a thought, like brushing off a fly.  Below him, Jared made a soft, stifled moan of pain and Jensen realized he was digging his fingers into Jared's shoulder again.

"Interesting response," Misha remarked, chuckling. "You're angry—at who?  Jared?  What do you think happens when you put someone in an intolerable situation?  People aren’t that different from dogs.  Given the boot, the back of the hand, some of them cringe, show their bellies.  Others, well, we go for the throat." Misha grinned and snapped his teeth playfully.

"Turn it off," Jared said quietly.

"Still awfully chatty—"

"I never put him on voice restriction," Jensen interrupted. "And you've been watching too much bad porn.  What do you want?"

A nod of Misha's head and Matt flicked off the TV.

"Get Jared up and put him on the bench."

"Why?"

"Because I'm in charge," Misha said. "I'm the client and you're the puppet.  Put him on the bench.  Put him on the bench exactly like you did…the first time."

Jensen stiffened, understanding dawning.

"Yes," Misha continued. "I don't know what it was like between you two.  I don't know what you did that first night—you did an excellent job destroying any evidence.  It must have been amazing, though, for you to finally find someone you give a damn about.  Life changing. You must hold those memories near and dear to your heart.  Isn't that right?"

Jensen ignored him.

"I mean, how often do you jerk off, thinking about it?"

Jensen shot him a withering look.

"I'm going to take it from you.  Twist it.  Damage it.  Make you cringe every time you remember. Now get Jared up and put him on the bench."

Uncertain, Jensen hesitated.  He didn’t much want to cooperate with anything Misha had planned.

Misha sighed. "I could shock you again.  That might be fun.  But let's keep our eyes on the real threat.  Behave, or we call a halt to all this.  I turn you into a hole, and then when you've been used so often you can't stand or shit on your own, I have them drag you out and put a bullet in your brain.  That's what it comes down to.  Your life versus what? Your dignity?  Your pride? Either way I'm fine with it.  Make your choice."

Feeling numb, Jensen reached down and took Jared's upper arm in his grip.  He was surprised when Jared immediately jerked away from him, shuffling back on his knees.  His face was bloodless, his eyes wounded and wet.

"Better get your game face on," Misha commented. "He doesn't seem terribly obedient."

The memory was like the stab of a knife.  The men bringing Jared in that first time, strapping him down, arranging him for Jensen's pleasure.  Jared yelling, cursing, throwing punches.  Fighting with all his strength.  It had been unnecessary really, Jensen could have handled it, but it had been key to the fantasy.  But now, with a broken leg, Jensen didn't want to try and wrestle Jared into submission, even though his boy had lost a fair bit of muscle mass.

"Pet," Jensen said gently.  "Come on, pet."

"Don’t want to."

"I've got you.  Come on. I won’t let anything…" Jensen trailed off.

Jared said sadly, "You can't stop it."

"Not any worse than—"

"Worse than what?" Jared whispered, staring at the carpet. "Which time?"

Jensen had no answer.

"The distaste on your face, Jensen!" Misha interrupted, laughing. "Sex is a curious business, isn't it? Pleasure. Pain.  Who's giving it, getting it.  Who wants it.  Most people care about these things.  But you, Jensen, I don't think you do.  But you don’t want to do this and suddenly, you understand.  Now it hurts because _you're_ hurting.  No empathy.  I learned this lesson myself in Jeff's house."

"I don’t see that it changed you all that much," Jensen responded.

"It piqued my interest in revenge," Misha said cheerfully. "It was enough. I'm not interested in personal growth."

"Jared," Jensen said and Jared turned his face slowly. "On the bench."

"I don't—"

"You'll do it for me," Jensen said firmly and Jared bit his lip, then nodded.  He stood, shakily, and Jensen helped him settle into position.

"Strap him down tight," Misha said and Jared flinched again.

There were four straps;  two each for Jared's arms and legs.  It was different than before, when Jared had had his hands behind his back, strain on his shoulders, but Jensen felt no need to tell Misha about that.  He slid Jared's wrists and ankles into the cuffs affixed to the bench, his arms hanging down, his legs apart.  Jensen threaded the leather through the buckle and then jerked violently, making Jared whimper and Misha laugh.  It was enough of a show that unless Misha looked closely, he wouldn’t see that Jensen hadn't buckled the straps fully, that a few hard yanks would see them loose.

Jensen wasn't sure what his options were, but there was no way he was leaving his boy locked down and helpless if he could help it.  Not in the room with Misha.

Making a soft, worried sound, Jared tugged a bit at the straps. 

"Settle," Jensen snapped and Jared did.

"Easier to get you to play along that I thought," Misha mused. "So what happened next?"

Jensen shrugged. "I caned him, I fucked him.  End of story."  He had built up his confidence earlier in his mind, and now it was shaken.  He had expected some faceless client, someone easy to steer, manipulate.  He had expected to take control of the scene.  And now he was facing Misha's pitiless expression, feeling out of his depth.  He had no desire to reenact that night for an audience.

"You're a terrible liar," Misha said. "Really, it's so pathetically easy to see through you.  Well, it doesn't matter what you say.  Getting the truth is easy enough."

He pulled out the remote and this time when the electricity surged through Jensen he could swear he could smell something burning.  He hit the ground hard, leg throbbing, his shout muted behind clenched teeth.  Someone else was yelling, and Jensen buried his tingling face in the carpet and tried to _think_.

"Jared," he heard Misha say. "It's up to you, pal.  Be honest, and I don't fry Jensen.  I have no doubt that he's going to lie to me every step of the way, but you're the decent sort, aren't you?"

"Is that supposed to make me cooperate?" Jared said unsteadily.

"Tell me what I want to hear or I'll zap him," Misha said bluntly. "I know you will.  You're in love with him.  But even more than that, you fight for others when you won't fight for yourself.  Isn't that right?"

The room was quiet, save for the buzzing in Jensen's ears.  Then Jared sighed and said, "He strangled me.  With a tie.  And he hit me with a paddle. Then a cane."

"That's quite a recipe for romance."

"It wasn't like that," Jared said.

"I guess I should have kept my suit on," Misha murmured. "No tie.  But that's not what interests me.  I don’t need some dry, step by step recitation of what went down.  Which parts did you like?"

"I liked the part at the end where I thought I was walking out the door," Jared said sarcastically, and Jensen smiled into the carpet at the bite in his boy's tone.

"C'mon, Jared. Spill."  There was a sharp, tapping sound and Jensen looked up to take in the sight of Misha drumming a fingernail against the matte black plastic of the remote.

"It was just us." Jared's voice was low and hesitant. "It was like there was no one else in the world.  Like I was the center of everything, everything you could be or feel, all in one moment."

"That's what you liked?"

"And hated.  It was terrifying.  The most scared I've ever been."

"Even more than being shoved in my trunk?" Misha asked playfully.

"There's always more awful, just around the corner."

Misha quirked an eyebrow. "That's just sad.  You fell in love with someone who scared you?"

"I was already scared," Jared said honestly.  He lifted his head a bit, met Jensen's eyes in the mirror. "I was alone and I was so afraid I wasn't going to be able to handle things.  Handle being alone, without my dad, without any support system.  I was white-knuckling it.  And then there was Jensen, forcing me to let go of control, promising to catch me.  It wasn't what I wanted.  It wasn't my choice.  But the way it made me feel…"

"Ugh," Misha muttered. "I honestly don't get you."

"And the sex," Jared continued, smiling slightly. "Things I'd never even thought about.  Each one setting me on fire.  Like this was the one person who knew me inside and out, and we'd only just met.  Like I belonged to him. I just wish…"

"Jared," Jensen said warningly.  Misha gave him a thin smile, lips quirking.  It was enough.  It was more than Jared should have said in front of someone like Misha.  And it was more than he had ever admitted out loud, private thoughts he'd never shared with Jensen before. More pieces of him held back.

"I just wanted you to know," Jared said, eyes still on Jensen. "I wanted to tell you. Before it's too late."

"I'm pretty sure it's too late," Misha quipped.

"I just wish you had taken me _home_ ," Jared whispered.

"I'm super glad I don't have any guilt about involving you, Jared," Misha said, lip curling in disgust. "Because this is just…pathetic.  Don’t you have any self-respect?  At least I knew when I was being screwed.  What does it feel like to just bend over and take it from anyone who wants to work you over?”

"Leave him alone," Jensen snapped.  He levered himself back up into a standing position. "This is between you and me."

"Correction.  Jared sees himself as your possession.  Ergo, he's part of you and part of this.  Matt, hand Jensen a cane."

It was in his hands before Jensen could even blink.  Jensen shook his head a little, feeling a bit dizzy, his head aching.  He felt a bit nauseated, both physically and due to the circumstances.

“You’ll do it,” Misha said, as if guessing at Jensen’s reluctance. “You’ll do it or you’ll end up flopping on the floor, watching Matt do it.  And he has no idea how to use one, do you Matt?”

“None, _Pahkan_.”

“You could scar me,” Jared said plaintively and Jensen frowned, trying to follow the thread of the conversation.  Why would Jared bring that up, knowing that Misha couldn’t possibly care, that if anything, it might goad Misha into greater cruelty?

“I’m sure Sebastian can fix you up,” Misha said nonchalantly.

“I’m an important asset,” Jared continued, a hint of a whine creeping into his voice. “They won’t like you damaging me.  My next client won’t like to see what you’ve done, it won’t please him.”

“Like I care,” Misha said, frowning. “Like I give a damn about your value as a whore! Jensen, get over there and hit him.”

Hesitating, Jensen fingered the cane.  Jared was still looking at him, staring at him in the mirror.  There was fear in his eyes, but not only fear, and Jensen felt a click in his mind as Jared’s words started to make sense.

“It’s okay,” Jared said softly, still staring intently at Jensen. “It’s what I’m good for.  What I want. I want you.”

“And what makes you think I want you?” Jensen snapped coldly.

“Master?” Jared whispered, voice wobbling.

“This is all I get?” Jensen demanded, voice rising sharply. “This drugged, washed-out version of you?  This shadow of who you were in that video? What makes you think I’m interested in that?”

Jared’s lip wobbled, and he began to cry loudly, wetly.

Misha frowned. “Jensen—“

“Where are the smiles and the flirtation for me, Jared?” Jensen demanded. “Is sobbing like a child all you’re good for now, you skinny, strung-out whore?”

“You made me this way,” Jared cried, body shaking with his sobs. “You broke me!”

“And why would I want to play with a broken toy?” Jensen hissed.

Laughing with delight, Misha clapped his hands.  He chuckled, “Wasn’t expecting a show this good—“

Whatever else he had meant to say was cut off when Jensen whirled about with the cane and struck him in the throat.

A raspy, gurgle issued from Misha’s throat impact as the cane struck sensitive flesh. The remote went flying, struck from the arm of the chair by Misha’s flailing hands.  There was a shout and then Jensen was being grabbed from behind even as he turned to meet Matt’s rush.  He was slammed to the floor, the lurid carpet doing little to cushion the teeth-grinding pain as his bad leg hit first, then his head cracked down, making him see stars.  He had the cane up purely on instinct, blocking Matt’s teeth from snapping down on his face.  Jensen shoved, suddenly grappling as hard as he ever had, graceless and desperate, Matt’s knees grinding into his legs, Matt’s hooked fingers going for his eyes.  There was screaming, Matt’s mouth wide open, spit flying out, beyond that a low hacking cough, and then a strange, hair-raising ripping sound, like skin being flayed.

Strong hands were suddenly gripping Matt’s shoulders and wrenching him away from Jensen.  Jensen rolled twice for good measure, leg screaming and head spinning, as he tried to level himself up into a standing position.

Jared was fighting Matt.

It was easy to see Jared’s natural talent for fighting, Jensen thought blearily, as he tried to use the chair to haul himself to his feet and slipped back down onto the carpet.  Jared’s long arms and quick movements had him ducking away and slashing in with his fists, as Matt pursued him with single-minded mania.  It might have been a fair fight a few months ago, Jared stronger and fitter.  Or if Matt had been willing to fight fair.  The dark-haired man dodged one of Jared’s fists, then gripped Jared’s forearm and sank his teeth in hard. Jared screamed.

Using the cane, Jensen stumbled to his feet.  Misha was done on the carpet, face purple, coughing, holding his throat.  Jared was stumbling back from Matt, gripping his bleeding arm.  Matt was advancing quickly, blood on his chin and murder in his eyes.

The door flew open.

“Knock it off!”  Amanda shouted.  She strode into the room, four men at her back.

Matt continued his pursuit of Jared, and Jensen watched as Amanda nodded grimly and one of the guards pulled his Taser and fired.  Matt toppled to the ground, twitching, wires sticking out of his back.  No longer being pursued, Jared came to a stop, putting his hands on his head for good measure.

“Drop the cane, Jensen,” Amanda ordered.

It was in no way what he wished to do, but Jensen dropped the cane and laced his hands on his head as well, swaying a bit.

“Don’t move, Krushnic,” Amanda ordered. “I’m more than willing to light up everyone in this room if they don’t cooperate.”

Jensen turned his head.  Misha had been advancing on his belly along the floor; hand out reaching for the fallen remote.

“I..thought..I..was the..client…,” Misha wheezed.

“I don’t care.  This circus is over.  Stop moving.”

“When..I..tell…”

“Yes, I know.  Boss lady is your new best friend.  You can file a complaint.  We provide sexual fantasies for our customers.  Last time I checked, we still don’t do snuff.”

“I..think,” Misha rasped, eyes narrowing, “you and I..should have..a..private…conversation…”

“No thank you,” Amanda said curtly. “Get them out of here.  Don’t take them to Seb.  They can get see to their own medical care.”

Jensen watched two of the guards drag Matt from the room, Misha following behind, breath still wheezing in his throat.

“Jared,” Amanda said quietly once Misha and Matt were gone. “Can you walk to Dr. Roche?”

Jared nodded slowly.  Jensen looked him over with a critical eye.  His wrists and ankles were abraded red from when he had wrenched out of the straps, and his arm was bleeding, but he seemed fine.  His worried gaze was fixed on Jensen.

“Bring in the chair,” Amanda ordered and Jensen swallowed his groan, fixing his face in a placid expression.

The minute he was strapped in, Amanda had the boot removed, sending shockwaves of pain through Jensen’s body.  He violently suppressed the urge to howl.

“Take Jared to Seb,” Amanda said, jerking her head at Jared, and the remaining two guards stepped up tentatively to flank him.

“Are you sure…?”

“Yes, it’s fine.  You can leave,” Amanda said.

The door clicked shut and Jensen was alone in the room with Amanda.  He could hear his own breathing suddenly and it seemed like too much effort to try to quiet it, to even it out.  Just sitting felt good, the chair holding him still as the red room continued its nauseating slow spin.

“You might have a concussion,” Amanda said, looking him over with a critical eye. “You hit your head at least twice on the floor.”

“You were watching, of course.”

“Of course.” Amanda nodded to the security camera at the top corner of one wall. “Clients often don’t appreciate it, but I like to know what is going on in each room.”

“Kinky.”

“Not particularly.”

“You didn’t have to stop them,” Jensen said.  His eyelids were heavy as the buzz of adrenaline faded.

“Of course I did.”

“You don’t like me.”

“I despise you.”

“Why did you do it?”

Amanda frowned for a moment, then shrugged. She said, “You’re one of mine now, aren’t you?”

Jensen laughed tiredly. “I guess we have more in common than you think.”

“Jensen,” Amanda said impatiently. “Let me give you some advice.  I have no doubt that you think you can find some way to wriggle out of this situation.  That you can escape this.  Enough.  You can’t.  They will kill you.  It will be just your luck that you’ll get Jared killed, too. So toe the line.”

Jensen tried to shrug, found it to be too much effort.  He said, “Out of those four guards, only one of them is loyal to you.  The rest will turn on you if it comes down to you or them.  Not exactly the best odds.”

“I know,” Amanda said.

“Well, since we’re handing out free advice, let me give you some.  You should stage a coup.  Take this place. If you were ruthless enough, decisive enough, you could win them all over.  Continue this way and you’re living on borrowed time.”

“I have no desire to be the kingpin of a sex trafficking ring, thanks.”

“They’ll kill you.  If you don’t toe the line.”

“Thanks for throwing my words back in my face,” Amanda muttered, smoothing back a stray strand of hair into her chignon. “I’m aware of the irony. We’re both on borrowed time.”

“We could always team up and stage a revolt.  Free everyone.”

Amanda pinned him with a fierce gaze. “I doubt you’re at all interested in anyone else’s freedom.”

“Or do nothing,” Jensen continued, letting his head fall against the back of the wheelchair.

“I’m sure if I do decide to make some misguided suicide run you’ll be the first to know,” she said dryly.

The two guards who had escorted Matt and Misha outside returned and wheeled Jensen to the clinic, Amanda trailing behind.  Even strapped in and rolling smoothly on the marble floors, every minute jostle made Jensen grit his teeth in pain.  Jared was exiting as Jensen was rolled in and he felt his boy grip his shoulder slightly as he passed and was swept away down the halls, heading back to the bottom bowels of the place.

Sebastian shot Jensen a sour look as he was wheeled in. “He’s still here?”

“How was Jared?”

“Nasty bite and some abrasions, he’ll be fine.”  Sebastian circled behind Jensen and Jensen nearly wrenched his neck trying to keep the doctor in his field of vision.  He’d never liked to be poked and prodded and luckily he’d never needed to see a doctor often. As Seb circled back around there was a pinch on his upper arm and Jensen jerked futilely in his restraints, yelping in spite of himself.

Sebastian drew back the syringe. “Better.  I don’t much like that one.  Like tending to a wild beast.  I keep waiting to get my head wrenched off.”

“Dammit,” Jensen muttered.  Whatever was in the syringe was quick-acting.  He felt his head become light, his body distant.  The pain too, receded like a wave drawing back from the shore.

“Check his leg, please,” Amanda said.  Seb muttered and knelt down, knees creaking.  There was the crisp sound of scissors moving through fabric, and Jensen looked down to see Sebastian peeling the leather pants away from his leg.  The flesh revealed was hot-looking and swollen.  Skilled hands were moving over Jensen’s shin, and despite the painkillers he hissed between his teeth.

“Looks banged up, but still in alignment.  Needs a cast,” Sebastian murmured. “But I suppose I’m not allowed to do that.”

“Boss says nothing permanent.  You had to cut off the pants?  They were expensive.”

“Paying to house a killer is expensive.  And did I hear right?  You threw Krushnic out?”

“He’s a dick.”

“How many clients have you tossed on their asses now, Amanda?  My dear, you should be more prudent.”

“Just fix him up,” she sighed.

“I can fix him permanently,” Sebastian said softly and Jensen’s head lolled on his neck, his ears straining to hear their conversation. “Air bubble in his vein.  It would solve a lot of problems, Amanda.  The boss would understand. Better to ask forgiveness than permission.”

“No,” Jensen croaked.

Amanda hesitated.

“It’s merciful,” Sebastian argued. “Just gets us back to where we were before this whole dreadful business started.  Sell the other one off, I know you’ve gotten a call about him.”

“Sebastian you should have been a spy.  Is there anything you don’t know about in this place?”

“No, and that’s why you should listen to me,” Sebastian said gravely.

“Just fix him up,” Amanda sighed.

“My dear, you need—“

“No I don’t,” Amanda said tensely.  Then softer, “Thank you, though.”

“Offer will always be on the table,” Sebastian said, and then he bent his attention to Jensen and with a reprieve from imminent death, mind both alarmed and hazy, Jensen gave himself permission to fade out for a while.

It seemed he only closed his eyes to blink, but when Jensen opened them again he was being wheeled out of the elevator and back to his cell.  His skin was bare, save for the boot, which had been strapped back onto his hurt leg.  It was a much better addition than a dowel and two rags, and Jensen pushed the discomforting fact of his nudity aside to focus on this new asset.

“Thanks for the stay of execution,” Jensen murmured, still feeling hazy and sleepy.

Amanda huffed. “One more chance.  Next client, you better behave.”

“No three strikes?”

“No.  One and done. Krushnic obviously doesn’t count; he wasn’t down here for a sexual fantasy.  It was pure revenge.”

Jensen said thoughtfully, “You know, Sebastian wasn’t wrong.”

“I should have euthanized you?”

“No.  That you need to take a stand.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time he offers me the choice of the syringe,” Amanda said tartly and Jensen shrugged and wisely let it go.

They wheeled Jensen past the rows of doors and he turned his head idly to count the lights.  Three other occupied cells.  Amanda caught him looking.

“Jared asks about them every time,” she said softly.

“The other three?”

Jensen didn’t care, not really, but Amanda did.  And what’s more, she cared that Jared did.

“Yes.  Krushnic was right.  Jared does have some fight left in him.  Fight for you and fight for the others.”  She hesitated in front of one of the doors and swallowed hard. “There’s a child in this one.”

“Amanda—“

“C’mon, boss,” one of the guards said, the one that was soft on her, and Jensen bit his tongue.  It would be easier for Jared to try and wheedle Amanda onto their side.  She was teetering, he could feel it.

If she survived long enough to aid them in their plans.

In the cell, Jared was curled up on the mattress, eyes closed, white bandage on one arm.  Jensen allowed himself to be levered back down gingerly beside his boy, and then with one last conflicted look, Amanda was closing the door and leaving them in the dim light.

“You awake,” Jensen said muzzily.

“Yes.”

“They give you something?”

“No. You?”

“Yes.”

Jared sighed and gingerly scooted backwards.  He stiffened in shock when his bare skin came into contact with Jensen’s own.  Then he melted back into Jensen with a sigh, letting Jensen gather him up in his arms.

“No clothes anymore?”

“Apparently not.”

“Well, at least you’re doing a great job compartmentalizing.”

“That was some quick thinking back in that room,” Jensen murmured.

“Thanks.  Just gave Misha what he wanted.  Thank God you weren’t too thick to play along.”

Jared should get a pinch, Jensen decided.  Later, when the mattress wasn’t so comfortable.

“Was any of it true? The things you said?”

Jared hesitated, then said, “The best way to fool someone is to keep it as close to the truth as possible.”

“I should have taken you home?”

“I’ve thought about this a lot,” Jared whispered. “Sometimes you’re not you and I’m not me and we meet some other way.  But it’s all a lie, just something to make me feel better.  The only way this would have worked, and you would have still been you and I would have still been me, was if you’d taken me home that night.  Tried to make it better, in your own way.  No basement, not ever.”

“That’s not what I want,” Jensen said petulantly. “I thought love was letting me be me.”

“Bullshit,” Jared growled. “You never carved out that space for me.  What about what I want? Who I am?”

“That’s three.”

“I got bit today,” Jared muttered, “I think my swear debt has been cancelled out.”

In the floaty softness of the moment, Jensen decided than made sense and snuggled his head into Jared’s shoulder.

“You’re cuddly when you’re high.”

“Never get high,” Jensen sighed, nibbling at the satiny bare skin of Jared’s back.

Jared sighed, then said softly, “What about the things you said?  True?”

“Close enough.”

“What about…what about who I was?  Do you want that?  Because I don’t think I can ever be that again.  Too much has happened.”

Jensen sighed. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

“I just want to know what you want. Not that it matters. We’re never getting out of here.”

“Probably not,” Jensen said honestly, feeling distantly depressed at the idea.  His boy stiffened a bit under his hands and mouth, and he lipped at Jared’s shoulder, one hand stroking soothingly on Jared’s stomach, until the other man quieted again.

“It’s like a truth serum,” Jared murmured and Jensen hummed an agreement just because the vibration of his vocal cords felt good, not because he was really paying attention.

“Sleep now.”

“Do you really love me?”

“As much as I can,” Jensen murmured, yawning.  It was suddenly a bit sad, how limited he was, how different from regular people.  He thought he might say something profound, but decided to bury his mouth in Jared’s shoulder again.

“Which me? And when?”

“All of the yous,” Jensen decided. “But I really hate it when any of the yous are sad.”

Jensen could see it suddenly.  The Jared from before and the Jared on the bench, the Jared in the cabin and here and the future Jared in the basement.  So many Jareds, he wanted them all.  Something told him that wasn’t possible.

“Stoner.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Sleep then,” Jared said quietly, and Jensen thought that was a good idea.  The ache in his leg was far away, and he felt aroused, but lazily so, too sleepy to do more than rub himself against Jared’s ass a few times before he slept deeply  and unguarded for the first time in a long time.


	23. The Last Time

Jensen woke slowly and blinked in the gloom of the cell.  Gingerly, he propped himself up, wincing in discomfort. That he had slept deeply was obvious, but for how long he couldn’t say.  All the time spent indoors and imprisoned had wreaked havoc on his internal clock.  Whatever the hour, he was alert and clear-headed, the drugs he had been given sliding away as if they’d never been in his system.  The throb in his leg also let him know he was no longer medicated, along with the low-grade headache he assumed came from having his skull slammed into the floor.  No lingering wooziness; whoever was Amanda’s supplier was providing top-quality stuff.

Jared was asleep on the mattress next to him, pale face somehow tense even in sleep, brow furrowed.

His boy was sleeping more and more, Jensen had noticed.  Mostly due to the drugs he was taking without complaint, but Jensen suspected there was an emotional component as well.  Depression, the overwhelming exhaustion that came from near constant fear, a desire to avoid reality and escape into sleep. Hopelessness.

What would happen, Jensen wondered, when it finally happened, when he was killed, and Jared was left alone?  Would someone be invested enough to build his boy back up?  Or would he be joining Jensen in a shallow ditch in a few months, having just given up in the face of everything?

  Jensen didn’t remember too much of the evening beyond his trip back to his cell, but he had a solid sense that he and Jared had engaged in an uncomfortable conversation, that certain truths had come out.  Now Jensen was awake and aware and it was like the drugs had pulled the wool from over his eyes. The lies he had been telling himself, telling Jared, to keep them both sane and hopeful.

He wasn’t giving up.  He wouldn’t. But escaping was looking less and less likely.

Jensen hadn’t realized that while he had been working so hard to reassure Jared, he had also been working to reassure himself.

For the first time since he’d been brought his basement cell, Jensen turned off his thoughts, his plans.  He left off making his lists, let the mental pages stay blank.  Hidden behind the boredom and the monotonous waiting was the real secret: time was precious.  They didn’t have much left together, Jensen could sense that. It wasn’t despair so much as it was pragmatism.

His boy looked so beautiful sleeping.

Jensen reached out a hand, let his index finger trace across Jared’s forehead, the pad of his fingertip smoothing the feathery hair of one eyebrow, stroking down to the tip of Jared’s sharp-tipped nose, dipping into the indentation about Jared’s soft pink lips.  He watched Jared frown in his sleep, before he let his hand drift down to collar Jared’s throat, to press firmly against his windpipe.  Jared’s mouth fell open at the touch, a sigh issuing from his mouth, and Jensen smiled as a tremor shivered all the way down his pet’s body, loosening his hips, limp cock beginning to twitch and fill, his boy’s whole body seeming to arch up in offering.  Jared responding as he always had, whether asleep or awake, his body in tune to Jensen’s desire.

Jensen kept his hand gently on Jared’s throat.  He let the other one trail down his pet’s body, light, teasing touches, swirling over every tender, ticklish part of Jared’s body.  Soft, too soft, Jensen thought, and he added an edge with the drag of his nails, pretty pink lines on all that flesh, hard enough to tease but Jared slept on, head tossing a bit, low mumbles issuing from his mouth.  Jensen followed the scratch of his nails with his mouth, soft, languid licks to soothe the scratched skin.

“Jensen,” Jared muttered.

Hesitating, Jensen lifted his head, regarding Jared’s swollen cock with a critical eye.  It was attractive enough, he supposed, long and blood-dark and wet at the tip.  He had never in his life bothered to pleasure anyone with his mouth—and why would he, when he was paying for it?—but the idea that he might miss the opportunity, to taste Jared in every way that mattered, seemed a crime.  He wasn’t however, going to waste any of his effort on a pet who was still asleep.  He breathed one line of wet heat up the shaft of Jared’s cock, watched his boy arch into the sensation, moaning.  Then he turned his head to press his mouth to the thin, delicate skin of Jared’s inner thigh and bit down hard.

His boy jackknifed into consciousness, swearing loudly.

“Ow! Fuck! Christ!”

“Good morning,” Jensen said primly.  He held Jared’s legs open, when his boy made an abortive attempt to shift away.

"You bit me!"

 "You act like that's a surprise," Jensen retorted, soothing the spot he'd just chomped with a lick of his tongue. He continued on, mouthing his way up Jared's leg to the sensitive crease between thigh and hip. Jared moaned.

 "Feeling better I see."

 Jensen shifted experimentally. "The boot helps. Much more stable. I can move more easily." He leaned over, mouth hovering over Jared's cock, eyes intent on his boy.

 A gamut of emotions ran across Jared's face. Finally, he said quietly, "You don't want to."

 "What do you think I'm doing?" Jensen scoffed, "Playing some game of sexual 'chicken'?"

"It's just…you never did, before."

"I do now."

"Am I awake? I just…ow!"

Jensen lifted his head and regarded the reddened bite he'd made on Jared's other thigh with a smile.

"You didn't have to bite me again," Jared complained, cheeks flushed. He shifted to close his legs and draw away.

"Don't move," Jensen commanded and Jared flushed redder, but obeyed. Jensen leaned down and licked a stripe up Jared's cock, then swirled his tongue around the salty wet head. He smacked his lips and listened to Jared groan. Bending down to take the tip back between his lips, he was arrested by a tugging sensation on his scalp. He looked up and raised an eyebrow.

Jared sheepishly took his hands away from where they were tangled in the golden strands of his Master's hair.

"Were you trying to pull my head down?"

"Sorry, Jensen." 

"You're going to be. Put your hands behind you. Laced together under your ass. Then plant your feet and open your knees."

Jared obeyed and Jensen admired the view. The position pushed up the planes of Jared's chest, every muscle taut, like he was offering up all that flesh as a meal to be tasted. _What the hell_. Jensen shifted, leg throbbing a bit at being jostled, to bend and take in turn each dusky nipple into his mouth. He gnawed at each nub, working it to hardness between his teeth, as Jared squeaked beneath him.

Jensen worked his way down the ridged plane of Jared's stomach, back down to his original target. He let his breath wash over it again, the looked up at his pet. Jared had craned his neck up and was watching intently. 

"Do you want it?" Jensen asked suddenly. 

"W-what?"

"Do you want this?"

Jared let his head fall back. "You're asking that? Seriously? What does it even matter?"

"I'm curious," Jensen said, drifting down to puff warm air across Jared's sac, to watch his boy shift with pleasure.

"Why?" Jared lifted his head again.

"I've never had you ask for it before," Jensen said thoughtfully. "I've made you beg. You have. But I think you want this. How hard is it to admit to it?"

"I said I was yours," Jared hedged, sounding angry.  

"I want to hear you say it. Honestly. Tell me you want it." Jensen rose up and caught the tip of Jared's dick between his lips. He hovered there, lips pursed, suckling lightly, and regarded Jared with an expectant gaze. There was a brief struggle as Jared tried to lever up his hips, get more of Jensen's mouth on him, and Jensen grabbed his pelvis and forced it back down.

"Fine," Jared growled. "I want it."

Jensen let the dick fall from his lips with a dramatic plop. "Rude. Do better."

"Jensen--"

"Ask nicely."

"Why does that even matter?" Jared muttered, flushing even darker. And Jensen was taken back to that first night. Jared, aroused, embarrassed, scared, coerced into asking Jensen to bite his neck.

"Because I want you to be honest with me," Jensen said.  Why this was important, he couldn’t really say.  He’d never asked before if what he was doing was pleasing Jared.  The body language had always been enough.

"Oh, is it time for a little honesty?" Jared said sarcastically, chest heaving. "Do you want to talk about last night?"

"No." 

"Because you said--"

"I want to have everything I can have with you," Jensen said quietly. "While we still have time."

"Well, that's sexy." Jared sighed, shifting his hips. "What happened to putting on a good front and pretending everything is fine?"

"No more lies. Not between us."

"I've never lied," Jared hissed fiercely. "I've told you from the beginning what I want. You just never listened. Ugh, my boner hates you right now."

He moved to roll away, but Jensen caught him by the shoulders and pressed him back down.

"What more do you want from me?" Jared snarled.

"Everything," Jensen said simply.

"I told you that I love you," Jared said, voice strained. "That I'm yours. That you made me feel--ironically--safe. And cared for. And turned on. I've agreed to all of it, everything. What more do you want?"

"I want you to tell me you want me to touch you." 

There was a pause, and then Jared said quietly, "Jensen, please touch me." He laid back, head down, eyes closed and body offered up. Every inch of him loose and accepting.

Jensen cocked his head. "Why do I feel like I've lost something by pushing the issue?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" Jared levered himself up on his elbows. "Of course I want you! Have you seen you?! I'll say whatever you want, admit to whatever you want! But don't pretend it matters! It has never mattered!" He dropped back down into position, face turned away. 

"Jared--"

"Please, Master, I want it. Please touch me."

"I'm sorry," Jensen blurted out.

"What the fuck?" Jared said, popping back up again. "I am literally doing exactly what you want. Being exactly what you want! You're fucking sorry?"

"Language--"

"You don't get to be sorry!" Jared yelled. "I stopped fighting! I gave in! You win! Now, you're apologizing?! For which part?!"

Jensen was quiet for a moment, then he said, “I don’t think you stopped fighting.”

“I’ll admit seeing Misha get a cane to the neck gave me a boost,” Jared huffed.  He looked intently at the other man. “Jensen, what do you really want right now?”

“I told you.  Everything.  Every part of you.”

Jared wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his head on them, calmer now. “Did you ever think that maybe there were parts of me you don’t get to have?”

Jensen growled. “I want—“

“They’re gone,” Jared said bluntly. “Some of them.  Others I gave away to other people.  Maybe even locked away inside me, I don’t know. Look, I’ll give you whatever you want, say whatever you want.”

“I don’t want an act.”

“It’s not an act,” Jared countered. “I’m yours.  What’s left of me. Just…don’t apologize again.  Ever.  I know you don’t mean it.  And it’s fine, really.  I’m not expecting you to grow a conscience.”

“It’s what people do.” Jensen blinked down at Jared, feeling somehow confused.

“Not if they don’t mean it.  Don’t say you’re sorry.  You’re not.  I know that.  I’m okay with it.”

Mollified, Jensen reached out to stroke his pet’s head.  Jared leaned into it, sighing.

“Lay back down, pet.”

Jared obediently resumed his position, arms pinned under his back, legs open, hips up and vulnerable, cock disinterested and soft.

“Tell me…do you want me to touch you?”

“Just stop asking,” Jared whispered.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“Are you asking to prove a point? Why?”

“I want it to be you and me,” Jensen said, gaze intent.  Jared squirmed under his regard. “Beyond that…I don’t know why I want it.  Need it.  But I do.”

“I want to come,” Jared said bluntly. “I want you to fuck me and hold me. I want to feel good, before it starts feeling bad.  But no, I don’t want you to touch me.  I don’t think I want anyone to touch me, ever again.”

“I don’t understand,” Jensen said, mystified.

“Like I said,” Jared replied, closing his eyes. “It doesn’t matter.  It’s like were speaking two different languages.”

“Pet—“

“Pet.  Toy.  Thing.  You have my answer.  I don’t want it.  But what I want never mattered.  At least it’s you.  I like you, even though you’re a bastard.  And you’re abandoning me.”

“I’m being realistic, Jared.”

“I don’t want reality,” Jared said. “I wanted you to swoop in like a superhero and rescue us.  What good is it if I surrender to you if you don’t look after me?”

“Wait, are you…mad…because, because they’re probably going to kill me?  Is that rational?”

“I’m an irrational person,” Jared retorted. “Look, I’m much rather have the blowjob than talk about this.  I’d rather have sex and pills than think.  Can we just stop talking about it?  Talking about _your_ feelings? It was much better for me when you just took what you wanted, made me want it, too.”

“Jared, I think—“

“Please,” Jared interrupted, voice soft.  He met Jensen’s eyes without flinching. “You asked what I wanted.  Just take over, that’s what I want.  Take what you want.  Take me down until I forget everything again.  Make it just you and me. You know how to do that.”

“Okay,” Jensen conceded.  He reached out to gently stroke Jared’s shoulder.

“Lower,” Jared grumped, twisting his hips up, and Jensen smiled in spite of the seriousness of their discussion.  He reached out to close his fist around Jared’s cock.

“Bossy, pet.”

“Sometimes.”

Jensen bent his head to his task, opening his lips and sliding down Jared’s length.  His boy was still only half-hard and Jensen thought about Jared, about what he knew about him and what he liked, and let his teeth drag roughly against Jared’s cock as he pulled back off.

“Oh, God.”

“I know what you like,” Jensen murmured and slid back down, the flesh filling his mouth this time, hard and straining.  He dug his nails into Jared’s hips, sharp anchors holding down his boy’s eager hips as he bobbed his head slowly.

“Of course you do,” Jared said quietly.  Jensen looked up.  Jared’s eyes were closed and although his body tensed at each sharp scratch and nibble, he kept himself limp and open to Jensen’s will.  A quick and immediate surrender.

Jensen thought again of how less than ideal it all was.  He missed the slow build up, the way Jared would panic and fight, then sink down into sensation when toyed with in just the right way.  His boy should be bound, legs spread so wide it put a strain on his joints, rope holding down his neck, a blindfold over those pretty eyes.  But the only tool Jensen had was his own body.

It was easy, still, to follow Jared’s cues.  Jensen bobbed his head, mouth sucking tight as he dropped down, teeth scrapping as he pulled up, Jared pinned beneath him, hips twisting under his hands.  There were little pulses of salt in his mouth, Jared’s cock jerking against his palate as Jensen pulled hard with his mouth.  Jared’s curses and sighs in his ears.

There was a rhythmic pulsing now beneath Jensen’s hands; Jared’s hips moving in the old familiar dance and Jensen pulled off, using one hand to mimic the cadence of his mouth.

“Ask me, pet. And if you think you’re coming in my mouth, you can think again.”

“Please, Jensen.”

“Beg me.”

“Please make me come.  Please, please!”

“Now.” He twisted his fist roughly against the crown of Jared’s cock, other hand dropping down to grip Jared’s balls tight and squeeze.

Eyes hooded, Jensen watched his boy arch up, face wet and red, eyes still closed, and come with a thin scream.  White seed splashed against his stomach, spattering all the way up to his chest. Jensen kept his hand moving, pulling every last drop of pleasure from his slave, until Jared was squirming, shifting, trying to get away from the too-sensitive touch, but Jensen tightened his grip on Jared’s balls, holding him firm.

“Please. Ow, hurts now.”

“Take it,” Jensen said, because Jared suffering pleased him, and although he still flinched at the touch, body tight, Jared stopped trying to get away, holding himself in position with a grimace on his face.

Jensen reached out and grabbed Jared’s hand, placing it on his boy’s spent cock. “Keep going.”

“Jensen,” Jared complained, his hand beginning to slide up his own shaft, wincing at his own touch.

“Keep going, just a few more moments.”

It took only a moment for Jensen to take his own cock in hand. His dick was throbbing and he scooped up some of Jared’s come, coated his own dick, before batting Jared’s hand away and taking both of their dicks in a firm grip.

“Ow, dammit, Jensen.”

“You’ll come again, pet.” Jensen commanded, stroking hard.

“Not likely,” Jared gritted out, although his breathing had already become heavy.

“You will,” Jensen promised, before reaching down with still slippery fingers to probe at Jared’s entrance, pressing in with two wet digits.

“Ow,” Jared complained, panting, as Jensen’s fingers unerringly brushed against his prostate.  A couple more strokes and then he let out a moan, knees falling farther open, hips rising as he flexed up into Jensen’s tight grip.

“There we go.”

“Hurts and…ungh…feels good at the same time. Oh…fuck me.”

“Good boy,” Jensen whispered.  It was difficult, this multitasking, and Jensen fucked his cock against Jared’s, his fingers flexing in and out haphazardly, as he was swept away with the sensation of hot skin, Jared’s moans echoing in his ears.

“Fuck me.”

“That’s probably going to hurt me,” Jensen complained, but he wanted in.  He wanted to be inside that tight heat.

“Don’t care. Please, Jensen.”

Jensen scooped up more come, cool and clumping now, coating his cock liberally.  Then he was awkwardly down on his knees, grumping a bit about the pain in his leg, as he lined up and pressed in.

“Ow…oh, please, please!”

“Take it,” Jensen muttered, sliding in.  It was tight, gritty, not the smooth glide he was used to, but rougher, more real.  He shoved in until he bottomed out, then slid slowly back out, eyelashes fluttering at the sensation, everything dark and hot and more, more, more.

“Fuck me,” Jared hissed, writhing and Jensen stared down at him, memorizing how he looked, an image to hold behind the darkness of his eyelids in the quiet of the night.  His boy, eyes slitted with pleasure-pain, chest slick with sweat, his hips rising and falling to meet the Jensen’s thrusts.

“I love you,” Jensen gasped, then he surged forward to bite hard at Jared’s neck.  His slave screamed, whole body arching up, then he was coming around Jensen’s cock, sending them both spiraling down into dark pleasure.  Jensen came so hard his vision whited out, then he collapsed down on top of Jared, skin to sweaty skin, nearly boneless with sated lust.

They drifted for a while, and then Jared shoved gingerly at Jensen’s shoulder and Jensen began the sticky, uncomfortable business of extracting himself with a wince—no lube was no joke—and leaving the rest of the mess to dry.  There was no real way to clean up in the mess in the cell’s tiny sink, and Jensen was too relaxed at the moment to make any sort of cursory effort.

“Should we talk more?” Jensen asked after a moment, thinking back to Jared’s words, the conflict on his pet’s face.

“I could sleep more,” Jared said, evading the question.  He had already curled back into a ball, resting on his side, his most defensive position and the posture that let Jensen know his pet had been pushed to the end of his tether.

“You sleep too much.”

“What else would I be doing?” Jared whispered plaintively. Then, “Please, Jensen, let me have what little peace I can.”

The keypad on the door buzzed.

“Seriously?” Jared complained. “It’s too early for breakfast.  Is it too early for breakfast?”

The door swung open. It wasn’t Amanda.  Instead, three of the guards stood in the hallway. The one that Jensen had earmarked as loyal to Amanda was missing.

“Where’s Ms. Tapping?” Jensen asked calmly.

“None of your business,” one of them snapped. “Get up.  You have a client.”

“What I have is head trauma and a broken leg,” Jensen responded. “And Jared has a piece of his arm missing.  I’d assumed we’d have a bit of downtime—“

There was the metallic click of a baton telescoping open, and then the cold metal of it was resting against Jensen’s cheek before he could shift away.  Beside him on the mattress, Jared had gone very still.

“I don’t care what you assumed,” the guard snarled.  He jerked his head at Jared. “Get up.  You’re first.  Get you cleaned up a bit.” He wrinkled his nose and then smirked.  “Not too much.  The client said he didn’t mind you both being banged up.  Actually, he prefers it.”

Jared was already standing, body already projecting surrender, defenselessness.  So there was no reason for two of the guards to grab him so roughly, nearly jerking him off his feet as they hauled him out of the cell.  Without the tempering presence of Amanda, they seemed to easily revert to their brute instincts.

“Jensen,” Jared murmured helplessly.

“We’ll be back for you in a bit, princess,” one of the other men said, laughing, and Jensen could only nod, face as placid as he could ever make it.

Another grooming session with Sebastian.  Sebastian with his calm, professional demeanor and his needle of death.  Jensen could only hope that the doctor wouldn’t take the initiative in Amanda’s absence, and would refrain from putting him down like a dog.

Soon enough, the time came and Jensen was strapped into his chair, polite and limp under the cruel hands of the guards, being wheeled up to the second floor.  The mood in the place had definitely shifted.  Even Sebastian was subdued, eyes warily darting up at the men guarding Jensen before letting his eyes drift down, the picture of nonchalance.

“Amanda?” Jensen murmured with his head craned back over a sink, Sebastian washing soap out of the strands. He wasn’t sure if Sebastian would even answer him.

“Meeting with the boss,” Sebastian said softly, reaching for a towel.

“She coming back?”

“I don’t know,” Sebastian muttered and he yanked hard on a piece of Jensen’s hair, a warning, the first time he had ever been deliberately cruel since Jensen had met him. “Drop it.”

The room that they were placed in this time was not the organ-colored room of the previous night.  It was softer, more romantic, with wispy pale drapery and a four poster bed.  Jensen felt out of place, standing in the room in a new pair of leather pants, shock collar once again fixed to his neck.  Without a word, Jared had dropped to his knees in the room, arms clasped behind his back, chin up and eyes lowered, falling into the role as easily as breathing.  He didn’t look at Jensen at all.

“Let’s see who it is,” Jensen said, trying to be reassuring. He had to say something.

“Still working on our escape plan?” Jared murmured.

“Don’t give up.”

“Of course, Jensen,” Jared said and to Jensen’s ears his voice sounded mechanical.  Dispirited.

The door buzzed and swung open.  A single man strode in, clad in a flashy floor-length fur coat with a slick suit beneath it, shoes glossed to a mirror shine, walking stick in hand.  Jensen looked up at the man’s face under his pretentious fedora: lean face, feline eyes, a nervous smile masquerading as a smirk.  He was blond and wore a neat goatee.

The man smiled wider and Jensen felt recognition shiver through his mind.  Where had he seen this man before?  Beside him, Jared tilted his head up to look and immediately stiffened, and the identity of the man fell into place.

“What’s up, bitches?” Chad said.


	24. The Great Escape Part One (AKA Chad Takes His Sweet Ass Time)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You said you would update regularly, our lie detector test determined, THAT IS A LIE."
> 
> I'd like to say you can blame the delay on my move halfway around the world, but it's probably more about the skill needed to write multiple characters doing more than just fucking and crying.
> 
> Total chapter count is also probably a lie, but I swear we're close to an end.

For a moment, Jared thought he was hallucinating.  The last person he had ever expected to see in this setting was his oldest friend, Chad.  Even more incongruous was Chad’s appearance, so different from how Jared was used to seeing him.  It wasn’t just the ridiculous fur coat, draped over Chad’s shoulders like he was trying to win some Pimp-of-the-Year award, or the meticulously trimmed facial hair; Tony Stark-level manscaping.  There was no funky reek of weed emanating from Chad’s skin and hair, no red-rimmed eyes or sour breath.  Jared couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his friend sober.

And terrified.  He was hiding it well behind his cocky strut and the smirk he’d plastered on his face, but Jared could tell.  Jared blinked and the pieces fell into place. Chad dressed up to look like a client could only mean one thing: a rescue.

Probably not a very well thought out rescue, knowing Chad.  Jared hoped like hell he wasn’t working alone.

Jared didn’t know the _how_ or the _why_ of it but in that moment it didn’t matter.  However Chad had found them, Jared was ready to commit 100% to the plan.  Failing to do so no longer just meant disaster for himself and for Jensen; there was no way he was going to let something awful happen to Chad. To _anyone_ else.

It should have been like fire surging through his veins, this sudden discovery of purpose.  Instead it was cold, ice in his gut, terror when he'd thought he'd reached the peak of what he could fear.  _Out_.  They had to get out.  Everyone.  All of them.

No matter what Jensen said.

Jared hazarded a look up at his master.  Jensen's face was mild, pleasant, only his slightly narrowed eyes and sharp gaze giving any indication as to his thoughts.  He was sizing up Chad, gathering information, using what he could glean to make the most strategic decisions.

But there was no hint of recognition.  Jensen didn't know it was Chad.

It wasn't any wonder.  They'd never met before and based on what had happened at the cabin—the call Jared had made to Chad, how he had managed to fool his master—Jensen didn't seem to consider Chad having any significance in Jared's life.  That hurt only because it was true—they had fallen apart, drifting farther and farther from the friends they had been.  To be honest, Jared hadn’t expected Chad to have even answered the phone, much less swooped to the rescue in elaborate costume.

If he wanted to catch Jensen up to speed, Jared couldn't be subtle.  He'd barely caught on to Jared's plan during their session with Misha.  Only the raw honesty of all the things lingering between them had helped pull off that plan.  Well, then.  Jared was going for blatantly obvious.

Sliding his voice down into a low throaty purr, Jared batted his eyes at Chad and cooed, "What can we do for you, Master?"

Ow. He felt Jensen's fingers dig into his shoulder, nearly in the same moment as Chad's face turned a fiery shade of red.

Without missing a beat, Jensen added his own rejoinder, in a silky voice Jared had never heard before. "How can we best please you?"  He hauled Jared to his feet.

Jared met his eyes.  Jensen was staring at him, unimpressed.  Oops.  Jensen must have recognized Chad after all.  It didn’t matter, Jared had set the tone, and Jensen was following along.

Chad scratched the back of his neck and muttered, "Um, both of you over on the bed."  His hand drifted to the shell of his ear, and he rubbed in self-consciously.  There was a little shimmer, as Jared caught the reflection of light on plastic. An ear piece.  Then Chad wasn't alone.  This was looking more and more promising.

"On the bed, slave," Jensen said, giving Jared a light shove toward the bed.

Chad's hand fumbled inside the pocket of his suit coat.  He was still draped in his fur coat and ridiculous fedora, and little beads of sweat were gathering on his forehead in the warmth of the close room.  He pulled out a handful of cards, small and slick and colored a graduated series of greys.

"Now what?" Jensen asked.

"Uh, okay, then," Chad said. "You'll do exactly as I say."

He hovered for a moment as if he might approach the bed, then ducked his chin and fled to the chair in the corner, dropping down into it with the furtiveness of a man slipping out the exit of an adult bookstore.  His fur coat puffed up around him as he wiggled in his seat.  He then plucked a card from the pile in his hand and held it up.

"Ice cubes," Chad blurted out, eyes scanning the card. "Um, rub an ice cube across your lover's body."

Jensen and Jared stared at him.

"Do we…do we have any ice cubes?" Chad asked timidly.

"No."

"Okay, then. Fine.  No problem." Chad shuffled the deck in his hand, fingers trembling.  He pulled out another card. "Write a love letter to your significant other telling them what you like best about them.  Leave it under their pillow…that's not going to work either, is it?"

" _No_."

"Huh." Chad shuffled the deck again, muttering to himself.

"Dumbass," Jensen muttered under his breath.  Jared frowned.  What the hell was going on here?

"Get a hairbrush," Chad announced and then began blinking rapidly. "Um…use the back of the brush to…paddle your lover.  Do we have a hairbrush?"

"No hairbrush," Jensen said, jerking his head towards the armoire against one wall. "I mean, I'm sure that cabinet has whips, floggers, paddles ad nauseum, but sure, you want a hairbrush."

"Well, you don't have to be an asshole about this," Chad snapped, breaking character. "Aren't you supposed to be some badass Dom? Improvise!"

"Improvise," Jensen mused and the tone of his voice set the hair on the back of Jared's neck on end. Jensen walked over to the armoire and flung open the doors, perusing the contents thoughtfully.

"Yeah, um, take your time," Chad said. "Take all the time—"

"This one," Jensen answered and pulled out a heavy wooden paddle from the cabinet.  He twirled it artfully in one hand, the low lights of the room glinting off the smooth, polished dark wood.  Raised letters carved into the paddle read "P-R-E-T-T-Y B-A-B-Y."

"Hardcore," Chad whispered, mouth hanging open in awe.

"Not really," Jensen replied.  He gave a test whack of the paddle against the thigh of his good leg, making Jared jump at the sharp report.  Then he snapped his fingers. "Assume the position, pet."

"Uh," Jared said.

"Don't you trust me?" Jensen asked silkily.

Jared frowned.  He felt jittery, nervous. Whatever rescue Chad had planned seemed to center around this elaborate farce: Chad as the client and Jensen and Jared as his paid performers.  Jared knew he should play along.  But he didn't much relish making the run to freedom with his ass bruised and aching from an intense paddling session.  It may have just been a game they all were playing, but Jensen had never gone easy on him.

"C'mon, pet."

"Um, maybe you should work up to that one," Chad said anxiously.

"I can do a long, slow warm up," Jensen purred. "I'll take my time."

Jared looked from his master to his friend.  Jensen held the paddle patiently, looking amused.  Chad looked nervous, embarrassed, desperation in his eyes.  But he caught Jared's glance and nodded encouragingly.

Jared climbed onto the bed on his hands and knees. 

Pain.  He could handle it.  Jared closed his eyes and then flinched when a broad, warm palm made contact with the small of his back, stroking soothingly, warming his clammy skin.

"Easy, pet."

"Remember," Jared whispered. "I probably need to be able to move, to run."

"I know," Jensen said softly and there was something in his throaty voice, something between doubt and hunger. "I know that.  But…but this might be the last time."

Flinching again, Jared slammed his eyes shut, expecting a flurry of hard blows, the force of the swings knocking him nearly off balance.  Instead, he felt Jensen bring the paddle flush with the back of Jared's thighs, the wood cool and peculiarly smooth-rough, the scraping feel of the polished grain.  The paddle was dragged gently against his skin, raising the fine hairs all over his body.

"Slow," Jensen said, voice louder, clearer, a teacher giving instruction. "Paddling is less about force and more about…sensation."

Jared heard Chad clear his throat from his seat in the corner.  Squeezing his eyes shut even tighter, Jared flushed.  It was beyond embarrassing doing this in front of his oldest friend.

The lights cut out.

 In the total darkness, Jared heard a muffled click, the door coming unlocked.  In the next moment, the room was illuminated by a dim red glare as emergency lights flickered on in the corner of the room.  Jared could make out Chad, moving to stand by the bed, and Jensen, already on his feet and alert, reaching out through the dimness towards him.

"Just as well I didn't really get started," Jensen said, voice tinged with regret. "What now?"

"That's our cue," Chad said, and he moved toward the door. "Let's go!"

He'd taken two steps when suddenly the lights came back on, and there was an electronic buzz, signaling that the door was once again shut.

"What just happened?" Jared asked.

"Um, fuck," Chad said. He looked pale.

"You had someone cut the power," Jensen said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Chad muttered.  He seemed to be having a hard time looking Jensen in the eye. "All the doors were supposed to open on these two levels.  Safeguard."

"Having an emergency generator is also apparently one of their safeguards."

"No shit."

"So what's plan B? Do you even have a plan B?"

"Hey," Chad shouted, offended. "At least I had a plan.  Of the two of us, which of us is supposed to be an evil ninja and yet is still sitting on his ass waiting to be rescued like some Disney princess?"

"Evil ninja?"

"Hi, Chad," Jared said, smiling despite the odds, despite everything.  Chad grinned back and pulled him into a back-pounding hug, before jerking away and shuddering a bit.

"Great to see you, man.  But ew—ew!  I did not want to see Evil Ninja put you through some kinky sex routine.  I need some brain bleach."

"You brought those cards," Jensen replied.

"Because I needed a distraction."

"Now what?" Jared asked.

"Okay, so it's not exactly a fully realized plan, but—" Chad slipped his hand into his pocket, and there was a flash of metal.  He took a step towards Jensen, hand raised, and in a flash Jensen had spun Chad around, one hand wrenched high up between his shoulder blades.

"Ow, motherfucker!"

"What were you planning to do?" Jensen asked coldly.  A twist of his wrist and the offending item in Chad's palm fell to the floor with a clatter.  It was a box cutter.

"See, I told you.  Evil Ninja.  I was—ow!—I was planning on cutting off your dog collar before whoever's monitoring the cameras figures out what's going on and shocks the shit out of you."

"You don't have the remote?" Jensen asked.  Jared glanced up at the camera.  Jensen was in full view of it, manhandling the 'client'.  Not good.  One quick glance up at the camera and Jensen was reaching the same conclusion, releasing Chad and sliding away, as if he could undo the damage.

"Hold still," Jared ordered.  He scooped up the box cutter and clicked it open.  The blade was razor sharp.  He placed it against the neoprene fabric of the collar and began to slide it back and forth carefully.  Jensen had frozen under his hands.

"Hurry," Chad whispered, as if by being quiet they could hide from view what they were obviously doing.

"I don't want to slice into his neck," Jared retorted, sawing away at the fabric carefully.  It was beginning to fray apart, the collar falling into his hands. "Got it."

As the last thread of fabric came apart and Jared grasped the collar, it suddenly came alive in his hand, as hot and sharp as a downed electric wire.  He felt his muscles seize as electricity jolted through him, and then all his limbs jerked out, the collar finally tumbling numbly from his fingers as he toppled to the floor, coming down hard, vision greying out as his mind went offline.  His body trembled in the aftermath, sternum painful and tight, and he felt a hot line down his forearm.  He reached for it, hand trembling, and his fingers came away red and wet.  The box cutter had fallen against his arm and left a thin, superficial slice on his forearm.

"Shit," Jared slurred, trying to sit up.

"Shit, man," Chad echoed and Jared struggled into a seated position.  Jensen was down on his knees, face pale, red pouring down his shoulder.  Chad's hand was clamped tight over Jensen's neck.

"Did I cut him?" Jared asked worriedly.  Visions of Jensen bleeding out filled his head.

"Your hand jerked when the collar went live," Jensen gritted out. "Gave me a slice."

"Did I hit an artery?"

"He's bleeding to death," Chad said, mouth hanging open.

"I'm not.  Jared, _I'm not_ ," Jensen said sharply. "I've a better understanding of anatomy than you, idiot, so keep applying pressure.  It wasn't near the artery.  It's just deep."

"I can help," Jared said, climbing to his knees. "Let me—"

"Watch the door," Jensen answered. "They'll be here in moments, and I'm pretty sure your moronic friend doesn't have any combat skills.  You're better equipped to take them down until I get this bleeding under control."

"Hey! I watch WWF all the time—"

"If they have guns?" Jared interrupted, getting to his feet shakily. "How do I--?"

"They need the space to aim and shoot," Jensen said, voice soothing. In control. "Don't let them get that space.  You can do this.  Hey Village Idiot, I've got the pressure on this.  Get me some of the sheets to make a dressing."

"Village Idiot?" Chad squawked indignantly.

"Evil Ninja?"

"I prefer Knight-In-Shining-Armor," Chad retorted, moving to the bed to tear the gauzy sheets into strips.

"I'm not seeing a rescue," Jensen commented, pressing hard on his red, wet skin with the palm of his hand. "So far we're still imprisoned, only now I'm bleeding and Jared's been shocked.  You suck at this."

"I didn't know about the backup generator—"

"Next time just bring a pair of scissors.  Preferably some safety shears."

"Do you know how hard it was to sneak a weapon of any kind in here?"

Jensen smirked. "Are you telling me you hid the box cutter up inside your ass?"

"Shut up, just shut up," Jared hissed, shaking slightly. He could feel the rush of adrenaline as he took position by the door, readying his body.

The door buzzed, the keypad unlocking.  As the door swung inward, Jared gripped it in one hand, yanking it all the way open.  He caught a glimpse of startled eyes and a Taser swinging toward him, and then he was in motion; arm sweeping up to shove the Taser up and away, the other hand driving into the guard's throat in a move copied now from both Matt and Jensen.  The guard gagged, Taser spinning out of his hands as he toppled back to the floor and Jared followed him down, two quick hard punches snapping the man's head back against the hard marble floor and knocking him out cold.

He was stumbling to his feet a moment later, blood pumping.  Twos, they always came in twos, and he spun around, knowing he had spent too much of his focus on the first guard, all he had been able to see in that moment, time passing in a haze of aggression and instinct.  He staggered to his feet, fully expecting two prongs in his chest, more lightning coursing through his veins as he was taken down.

Nothing.

There was a second guard, yes, but he was a bit further down the hall, face down, limbs spread in a sprawl.

Tim was standing over him.

"Sir," Jared breathed, feeling relief, joy, and he striding forward, throwing his arms around Tim's shoulders.  Tim allowed the embrace, returning the hug briefly, before gently freeing his arms and stepping away, focus on surveying the hallway and any potential dangers.

"You're here with Chad?" Jared asked, scarcely daring to believe it.

"I pressed him into service," Tim answered.  He bent and stripped the Taser from the guard at his feet, then moved on to the other one. "I needed someone that the Pellegrinos wouldn't recognize."

"He came to my house and scared the shit out of me," Chad answered.  He was standing in the hallway, Jensen at his side.  There was stained white cloth tied around Jensen's throat, and he was too pale for Jared's liking. "Then he told me what was up, how you were being held in a dungeon and shit, and I was in.  It's not like the police were listening to me."

"You went to the police?" Jared asked, touched.  And a little ashamed of how little he had expected from Chad.

"Of course I went to the police," Chad answered. "I was so messed up the night you called I wasn't sure if I had hallucinated you, but then I find out your place got burned down and no one's seen you around for weeks.  Cops didn't seem too motivated to do anything, but I kept trying."

"Idiot," Tim growled. "I told you to leave them out of it."

"We can argue about this later," Jensen interrupted.  He staggered forward, looking weakened, his boot making his gait limping and awkward. "Let's get out of here.  I'm much more optimistic about our chances with you here, Tim.  What's the plan?"

Tim looked a bit chagrined. "I missed the backup generator.  My plan was to waltz in and then waltz out.  All the doors would have unlocked when I cut the power.  Managed to get into the elevator shaft and ride down with the guards, but I don't have any of the codes.  Unless some new hostage presents himself, we might have to wait for one of these guys to wake up, then compel the elevator code out of them."

"Too long," Jensen replied. "We don't know how many more there are.  What if they send down an army?"

"We don't need just the elevator code," Jared interrupted.  He was edgy, nervous, but resolved. He wanted to look down at his feet, but he kept his head up, meeting the eyes upon him. "We need _all_ the codes.  The codes for the doors downstairs."

"What?" Tim said.

"No," Jensen replied, steel in his voice.

"I'm not leaving them here," Jared insisted and God, he couldn't look over at Chad now.  Chad who was putting his life on the line and who hadn't signed up to risk it for strangers.

"Leaving who?" Chad asked.

"We're not going down," Jensen said, voice tight with tension. "Up is one elevator code.  Down is too many doors."

"Three," Jared said fiercely. "Three other doors. Three other slaves.  I'm not leaving them behind. I can't."

"Yes, you are."

"Going to try to make me?" Jared asked angrily. "Missing a pint of blood and with a broken leg?  How are you going to make me leave?"

Jensen stepped up close to him, intimidating even though he was a few inches shorter. "If you think my injuries are going to stop me dragging your ass upstairs—"

"I agree with Jared," Chad interrupted. "Nobody gets left.  That would be totally fucked up."

"Oh, you think you have a vote?"

"It's us against you," Chad sneered. "Nobody's making Jay leave if we've still got rescuing to do."

"Playing hero is going to get us all killed—"

"This is a waste of time," Tim interrupted.  He looked at Jared, eyes softening slightly. "Jared, I understand how you must feel, but we need to be smart about this."

"No, Sir," Jared said. Then, "No, Tim."

Tim frowned. "Jared—"

A door down the hall buzzed and Sebastian stepped into the hall.  He froze like a deer, seeing them all standing there.

"I see our new hostage arrives," Tim said with satisfaction, jerking his head towards Sebastian.  Jensen started towards him, shoulders straightened, face a cold mask.

"Dr. Roche."

Much to Jared's surprise, Sebastian didn't try to duck back into the clinic room, or flee down the hall. He nonchalantly shoved his hands in the pockets of his white coat, looking annoyed.

"Knew you'd be trouble," Sebastian said, sighing.

"I'm sure you regret not killing me," Jensen agreed.  He stepped up and took Sebastian's arm in a tight grip. Sebastian allowed it.

"I do.  It would have made everything much simpler."

"You have the elevator codes," Tim said.

"Yes," Sebastian said, sounding bored.

"And the codes for the cells downstairs," Jared added.

"No," Sebastian said. "Only Amanda and the guards have those.  I'm never down on the lower levels.  Why, were you planning a jailbreak?  You're not going to get far."

"Then we go up," Jensen said, looking over at Jared. "We take the codes and go up.  I'm sorry, pet."

It happened so fast Jared hardly had time to blink.  Sebastian whipped a hand out of the pocket of his coat and plunged a syringe into Jensen's arm.  Jensen gave a brief shout, spinning away and slapping at the needle dangling crazily from his arm.  He pivoted, pulling the syringe out and flinging it to the floor as he shoved away from Sebastian, nearly knocking him down.  Jensen took a wobbly step backwards and hit the wall, stumbling a bit before leaning against it heavily.

"Shit," Jensen slurred. "Did you kill me?"

"A sedative," Sebastian countered, breathing hard. "But it would serve you right if I had."

He reached into his other pocket, pulling out a neat, compact handgun.  Sebastian held it like he knew what he was doing, shifting his gaze between Jensen leaning against the wall, Tim frozen in mid-step in the middle of the hallway, Chad by the door and Jared a few feet away, arrested in motion on his way to Jensen's aid.

"I should have put something more toxic in it," Sebastian continued. "I should have put you down. But I guess I'm still holding on to my oath. Look, there's no point to all this.  You're not getting out of here. Go back inside the room and close the door.  There's no other choice, not one that has you living through this."

"I'm apparently not meant to live either way," Jensen murmured, eyes becoming glazed. "And I doubt you'll be any more lenient with Tim or Chad." 

Jared stepped gingerly over to Jensen, helping him slide down the wall carefully to slump down on the floor, bad leg stretched out carefully. Jensen clumsily palmed the side of Jared's face.

"Thanks, baby. Was too damn slow."

"It's okay," Jared whispered.

"We just want to leave," Tim said quietly, eyes on Sebastian. "Give up the elevator code and we'll be on our way. Nobody needs to die."

Sebastian regarded Tim warily and countered, "And what do you think happens to me if I let you all walk out of here. You think I'm winning Employee of the Year for that?  Back in the room, _now_."

"Seb," a soft voice said from behind them.  Jared turned his head. Amanda was standing between the elevator and the door to the stairs, still in one of her immaculate suits.  She held a pair of sensible navy pumps in one hand, her bare feet soundless on the marble floor.

"Amanda." Sebastian didn't turn around.

"Seb, put down the gun. Let them go."

"That would be a mistake, my dear."

"It's over," Amanda continued, in that same gentle, measure tone. "It's over now, drop the gun."

"For you, maybe. I honestly didn't expect to see you down here again.  Thought Pellegrino had already killed you.  You're terrible at this job."

"Not ruthless enough, I know," Amanda said. "I can't stand what I'm doing. What I'm becoming.  This is wrong in so many ways."

"Soft-hearted. Amanda, it's not too late to fix this.  If we get them back inside the room maybe they won't kill both of us for failing."

"It's too late for that," Amanda said, steel in her voice now, and Sebastian stiffened, started to turn.

The Taser took him in the back before he could spin around.  Jittering, body jerking under the deceptively quiet hiss of the electricity; he fell to the floor face down, wires protruding from the prongs in his back.

Amanda dropped the Taser, looking a little green.

"Finally grew a pair," Jensen slurred at the same time Jared heard Chad whisper in awe, "She's so hot."

"Correct," Amanda said crisply. "And disgustingly sexist.  What happened?"

"Jensen was drugged," Tim said, watching Amanda shrewdly. He stepped carefully over and picked up Sebastian's fallen gun. "Are you friend or foe?"

"Neither," Amanda said, "But if you want out, I'm your girl."

"The others, too," Jared said.

"Of course," Amanda replied, eyes softening. "Jared, I'm so sorry."

"We don't have time to go down a level," Tim said, but he sounded conflicted.  He looked to Jensen.

Jensen sighed and pressed a kiss to Jared's neck. "I love everyone in this hallway."

"Okay, he's stoned," Chad said/

"That's inconvenient," Amanda replied. "I was counting on him helping kick some ass on the way to the exit." She let he gaze drift from Chad to Tim. "Who's the Knight and the Pimp?"

"Chad."

"Tim."

"Enchanted," Amanda said. "Chad, give Jared your coat.  Jared, can you carry that asshole? I'd say just leave him if I thought for a moment you'd listen."

"I love this coat," Chad whined.

"Then give him your damned pants," Amanda said in exasperation and Chad unbuttoned his trousers, shimmying out of them to reveal green silk boxers.  He handed the slacks to Jared.

"Nobody gets left behind," Jared said, slipping on the pants.  He looked Amanda in the eye. "No one."

"Fine," Amanda said, scooping her Taser off the floor. "Then get him up. I'll take the front with Tim.  Let's get down there and get those people out."


	25. The Great Escape II (AKA Just Take the Fucking Stairs)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor character death. Mention of kiddie prostitution. Guns and gore.

"So muzak, huh?  Seems pretty surreal for a sex torture dungeon."

"Shut up, Mr. Murray."

"I swear for only going one floor this is the slowest elevator in the world," Jared muttered and Jensen chuckled in his ear and nibbled his neck, mouth wet and sloppy.  He was leaning heavily in Jared's arms, letting his boy take most of the weight.

The elevator settled on the lowest level and the doors slid open.  Jared stepped forward, eager to leave the enclosed space of the elevator behind, but Tim's hand on his chest stilled his movements.

"Careful."

"There's no one down on this level," Amanda said, stepping briskly out.  Even barefoot, her stride seemed sharp and professional. "It's going back up that's going to be a right bastard. I can't believe I'm doing this."

"Leave Jensen here," Tim said, after watching Amanda stride out of the elevator with his eyebrow quirked. "Prop him up against the wall."

"There must be a trash chute somewhere," Chad quipped.

"Shut up, Chad."

"Don' go," Jensen murmured as Jared gently slid him off his back and onto the floor just outside the elevator door.  His hands slip-slip over Jared's sweat-slick shoulders ineffectively, and Jared slowly extricated himself from Jensen's grasp. "Stay with me."

"I'll be right back."

"No. Stay."  Slumping against the wall, Jensen blinked up at the others, his eyes glassy, lips pursed in a petulant pout. "I hav' to tell you…I hav' to…"

"It's fine," Jared soothed.

"Never fine," Jensen insisted, staring up at Jared. "It was never fine."

"C'mon," Tim interrupted. "You can talk later."

It was difficult, but Jared stepped away and followed the others down the hallway.

"Do pharmaceuticals make you grow a soul?" Amanda muttered icily, as she gestured for them to follow her down the hallway.

"I don't know," Jared said quietly.

"I hope you're not buying into this act."

"Is that what you think that is?" Jared asked, looking over his shoulder.  Jensen was slumped down against the wall, eyes closed. "An act?"

"Eyes on the objective," Tim said and this time he sounded a bit exasperated. "Am I the only one here who doesn't want to work on their relationships while planning an escape?"

"Fine. This door first then," Amanda said curtly, handing her Taser to Tim. She swiped her fob against the keypad and typed in the code.

"Is it a guy? A girl? I bet she's hot. Is she hot?" Chad crowded in against Amanda's shoulder.

"The door swung open, revealing a cell only slightly better equipped than Jared and Jensen's.  The mattress had a blue fabric cover, and there was a rug on the floor.  A gorgeous, rosy-skinned redhead reclined on the mattress completely nude, neat ankles delicately crossed, one red curl tumbling over her pale shoulder. She lowered the fashion magazine she was holding and smiled faintly.  Even though her cheeks dimpled, the expression on her face was still strained and grim.

"Gangbang this time, Amanda?"

"Wow," Chad muttered, awed.

"No. A rescue," Amanda said briskly. "We're getting you out. Come on."

"For real?" The red-head looked skeptical. "One of my 'rescuers' is wearing a fur coat and no pants." Her fingers made air quotes.

"Yes, 'for real', so let's stop wasting time. Danneel, get up," Amanda said tiredly. "Mr. Murray, close your mouth and give Ms. Harris your coat."

"Of course," Chad said, nearly tripping over himself as he shrugged out of the heavy fur thing and almost ran to drape it around Danneel's shoulders.  She shrugged it on like the mantle of a queen, sighing a little as the fur brushed her bare skin.

"Thanks."

"Goddess," Chad whispered, looking awed, and Danneel rolled her eyes.

"You think this makes up for everything you did?" Danneel asked Amanda, her brown eyes hard. "I ought to bash your face in."

"No.  Nothing can.  But you can take it up with me later after we're out if you still want to.  I won't even try to duck the first punch." Amanda turned on her heel and walked towards the next door, Tim and Chad following close behind.

Danneel looked Jared up and down, pink rosebud mouth twisting up into a smirk. "Nice pants."

"T-thanks."

"Who are you?"

"Jared."

"You want to give me the abbreviated version?"

"Okay.  That's Chad. And Tim." Jared jerked his head towards each man respectively. Then he stalled. "Um…"

"Clients?"

"Friends.  They staged the rescue.  Then Amanda…grew a conscience.  That's basically it."

"Who's the hottie passed out over there?"

"Jensen.  He's…kind of one of us."

"Is this going to work?" Danneel asked, voice wobbling, her cynical mask cracking a bit. She looked grim and strained. "I've been in this hellhole three months, I could use a permanent vacation."

Before Jared could respond, Amanda came back out of the second cell, arm around a shivering brunette woman.  She was draped in Chad's suit coat, her pale, long legs peeking out from under the hem.  She sobbed softly into Amanda's shoulder.

"You'll be naked at this rate," Danneel informed Chad.  He was sheepishly hustling down the hall just behind Amanda, legs skinny and bare below his silk boxer shorts.

"You know, other people have clothes to donate, not just me," Chad complained.

"You have the most layers," Amanda responded. "Come on, Lauren dear."

"Thank you," Lauren sobbed, head still buried in Amanda's shoulder.

Danneel raised one unimpressed, ginger brow as Amanda walked past with Lauren. She muttered, "If you ever catch me thanking my captor, just shoot me."

"Not everyone deals with things the same way," Jared replied, voice carefully neutral.

"You're Stockholm-ed too, huh? Figures. Do what they say, get a pat on the head and some presents, lap it up, lick the back of the hand that hits you.  After a while, you wouldn't leave your cell even if you could.  Pretty fucked up."

Jared just stared at her.  There was no defense, nothing he could say.  It was true.  Even now, in the numbness of anxiety and adrenaline, the blur of everything that had happened, he couldn't decide if what he felt was right or wrong.

"One more," Amanda said.  She looked over at Jared and hesitated. "Maybe Lauren will go to you—"

At the suggestion, Lauren began to sob louder.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Danneel snarled.  She reached out and pulled Lauren away from Amanda, her hands much gentler than the angry rasp in her voice.  She cuddled the crying woman close. "I've got her.  Go be a goddamn hero."

"You sure?"

"She knows me.  We've…worked together before.  Fuckers.  I've got this."

"Tim, stay with them."

Amanda beckoned Jared and Chad down the hall.  The last door, the last blinking light.  A cell with a child.  Amanda looked up hopelessly at Jared, but he simply stared back at her.  Encouragement, reassurance, he had none to offer.

She clicked open the cell.

Inside, it was as bare as Jared and Jensen's cell, no cover on the bed or rug on the floor, grim and gray.  A naked boy sat on the mattress, curled in on himself, back pale and skinny.  Jared stared.  He could nearly count the ribs protruding under that fair skin.

"Chad—" Amanda began, but Chad was already moving forward, unprompted, unbuttoning his dress shirt and laying it over the boy's bare shoulders.  The boy didn’t move, didn't turn.

"What the hell?" Chad asked, outraged.

"He's not usually this docile," Amanda said, and reached out, turning the boy towards them.  He came easily, and Jared could see the narrow face framed by brown hair, no more than twelve years old.  His dark eyes were glassy and vague.

"Drugged, then," Jared whispered.

"Colin?  Colin, can you hear me?" 

The boy slowly turned his face up to Amanda, his expression still blank.  There was such an absence of anyone, such that Jared's eyes darted down to the boy's chest, reassured by the faint rise and fall that told him Colin was still breathing.

Despite the blankness, Colin lifted his arms agreeably when prompted; allowing Amanda to slide the shirt over his arms and button it up the front.  He stood obediently, swaying a bit on his feet, but managed to walk a little bit unsteadily out the door, holding Amanda's hand in a loose grasp.

"You should be shot," Danneel said in disgust when she saw Amanda leading the boy. "Seriously? A kid? What kind of monster are you?" She hustled over, Lauren in tow, and nearly ripped the boy away. Immune to all the fuss, Colin came readily to stand at Danneel's side, face still placid and blank.

"I—"

"Tell me you never walked him down that hallway," Danneel hissed, brown eyes fierce with rage. "Tell me you never did to him what you did to me.  C'mon Amanda, tell me how you're not a monster, how you're some kind of fucking _hero_."

Amanda stood in the hallway, arms limp at her sides.  Her usually unflappable expression was gone, she looked gutted, staring at her three charges.  Danneel trembled with rage, Lauren kept up a low, agonized sob, and Colin blinked dazedly down at the floor.

"We need to plan the next step," Tim said, voice gentle and he came to stand next to Amanda.

"The next step is to get the fuck out," Danneel said.

"With caution," Tim agreed. "Danneel, Can you watch Lauren? Chad will take the boy—"

"No one's touching him!"

"I'm not some kiddie fiddler, thanks a bunch!"

"Enough," Amanda said, voice calm and commanding, face back under control. "Danneel, Colin might need to be carried.  Chad can do it.  He isn't…he's one of the good guys."

"He looks shifty."

"Hey!"

"You're not going to be able to lift the kid," Tim answered, backing Amanda's decision. "Chad can.  Jared, you're with Jensen."  He handed Amanda back her Taser.

"I want one of those," Danneel complained.

"Amanda and I take the front," Tim said, ignoring her. "Everyone else get in the elevator, then stay behind us."  He pulled out Sebastian's gun. "When we hit the lobby, follow us, stay low and stay close. We're dealing with at least four more—"

"Three," Amanda interrupted. "One of them is mine.  And he's got the other three and Pellegrino…occupied in the office on the main floor. Can't say for how long he'll be able to hold them."

"Okay then," Tim said, and he ushered the group into the elevator.  Jared hefted Jensen up, he seemed heavier, his arms and legs limper, and hauled him in along with the rest.

"You're doing well," Tim said, and Jared couldn't tell who he was soothing, could only hear Danneel's annoyed snort and Lauren's wet sob following his kind words.

Jensen blinked and looked up dazedly into Jared's eyes. "I love you."

"Not now."

"This is my last chance," Jensen slurred. "My last chance."

"Not now," Jared answered, and pressed a kiss to Jensen's cheek.

The elevator door slid closed, and it began to move slowly upward, soothing light flickering on exhausted faces, music playing softly from the tiny speakers in the ceiling.

"Is that a muzak version of 'Smells Like Teen Spirit'? Somebody kill me," Chad complained.

The lights flickered, and then the elevator jerked to a halt, groaning a bit as it settled in between the first and second basement levels. The red glow of an emergency light flickered on.

"Fuck, I was kidding," Chad said, alarmed.

"This isn't good," Tim said.

"Understatement of the year," Danneel sniped and Lauren began sobbing louder. "Shush, it's okay, honey."

"This isn't a problem," Amanda said briskly and she reached for the seam of the door, pulling it open slowly with hands.

"I don't think that's a good idea—" Tim began and then jerked back from the half-foot opening Amanda had made between the sliding doors, at the same time Amanda jittered backwards, head snapping back, red spraying from the top of her head.  Jared ducked instinctively, cheek wet, a ringing in his ears.  It was a gunshot, Jared realized.  Someone had fired a gun into the elevator and hit Amanda in the head.

"Down!" Tim shouted, crouching by the opened door.  He reached up to pull the door closed, then cursed, flinching back, as more shots sounded out.  Lauren screamed, and Jared heard Jensen grunt, jerking in pain.  Toppling him flat, Jared covered Jensen with his body, scrunched up beside Chad, who was cowering over Colin, and Lauren and Daneel, twisted around each other.  There was blood welling up from Jensen's shoulder and Jared pushed down with his hand, applying pressure.

"The worst luck ever," Jensen slurred, sprawled out on the elevator floor.

"Hold on, I think it just grazed you."

"Shocked, cut, shot…"

"I know.  It's okay, I've got you."

Tim fired back, shoulder against one of the metal elevator doors, twisting his body to try and get a clear shot.  He fired twice, then shoved himself hard against the wall as more shots rang out, echoing in the small space.

"Come out, come out," said a sing-song voice from outside the elevator. "I mean, if any of you are alive in there."

"Misha," Tim growled.

"Misha," Jared whispered.

"Who the fuck is Misha?" Chad asked.

"Amanda!" Lauren shrieked from her sprawl on the floor.  She worked her way out of Danneel's grip and crawled over to Amanda, who was slumped against the wall.  Blood dripped steadily from her hairline.  Lauren whipped off her borrowed coat and balled it up, applying pressure to the wound.

"Lauren—"

"I've got this," Lauren said quietly, and she sounded so calm and in control to Jared she could have been another person. "It didn't enter her skull, probably a graze.  She's still breathing, pulse is elevated but steady."

"Did Matt kill any of you?" Misha called out playfully.

"Why don't you do your own dirty work?" Jared shouted back, both scared and furious.

"That's not how I operate," Misha called back. "I've got minions to do all my dirty work.  Anyway, a little bird told me you were planning an escape.  Tsk-tsk, you know that's not allowed, Jensen."

"God?" Jensen said confusedly, looking up at the elevator ceiling.

"He wishes," Jared muttered and then looked over at Tim.  He was gesturing to Jared. Jared took Jensen's hand and pressed it over Jensen's bleeding bullet wound. "Firm pressure. Be right back."

Jared crawled across the elevator floor, squeezing past Lauren and Amanda to come up on the other side of the door opposite Tim.  He watched the older man closely.  Tim communicated his intent silently, hands expressive, but Jared could catch the gist of it.

"I didn't think you'd stick around," Jared called out.

"But we never got to finish playing. Pet."

"Go to hell."

"If you come out now," Misha called out, "I'll call off my attack dog.  Let you back into your cells.  You can even…hey, Tim, is that you, man?! I can see your stupid hair from here! I hate to tell you, but I think you're on the wrong side.  That's not good, I'm not sure they really have a market for someone as…senior as you."

"That little bastard needs to die," Tim growled softly and at his nod Jared grabbed the side of the door and jerked it open, just as Tim leaned over and fired two quick shots.

"Matt!" Misha wailed, and Tim grabbed the door, jerked his side even wider, and fired two more shots.

"You'll pay for this!" Misha called out and then there was the sound of running feet down the hallway.

"I think it's clear," Tim said after a moment and Jared nodded, peeking around the edge of the door. "He's a coward's coward. I'll climb out and cover us, You help the rest of them get out."

It took a bit of work, but Jared helped the rest of the group crawl out of the elevator and into the hallway.  Chad and Lauren hauled Amanda, Danneel led Colin, and Jared boosted Jensen out of the elevator.  There were two bodies sprawled on the floor: Matt, with two neat holes in his chest, and Sebastian, face down and dead, a bloody bullet wound in his back.

"Poor guy," Lauren said softly as she passed Sebastian.

"Good riddance," Danneel said.

One flight of stairs, but it felt like a million to Jared, tired as he was and jerking at every little sound.  He carried a dazed and bleeding Jensen up on his back, followed by Chad—huffing and puffing—with Amanda in his arms.  Lauren walked beside him, holding the coat fabric to Amanda's wound, heedless of her nakedness.  Behind them, Danneel and Colin brought up the rear.

"Careful," Tim said, taking point.  He eased them out of the stairwell and into the lobby of the building.

Jared couldn't help but glance around.  It was surreal.  Clean glass and slate and normalcy, it could have been any upscale, hipster-y apartment complex.  The secrets that lay beneath, the pain and suffering underground, didn’t register at all.

"This way," Tim said, leading them past an unmanned security desk.

"Amanda needs medical care," Lauren interjected.

"Let's just get clear—"

"Freeze! Freeze!  Hands on your head!"

"What in the hell?" Danneel exclaimed.

All of a sudden, there were people all around them.  Some clad in police uniforms, some in tactical clothes, a blur of badges and faces, and guns, a lot of guns.  Jared went down on his knees as if on automatic, sliding Jensen to collapse beside him, shrinking at all the light and noise.

"Yeah!" Chad yelled delightedly, pumping his fist.

"What did you do?" Tim hissed, already face down on the floor, arms behind his back.  An officer was frisking him aggressively.

"I called the police, asshole!"

"You idiot! I told you not to!"

"Ha-ha, I'm a double agent!" Chad crowed, just as he was shoved to the ground, arms wrenched behind his back.

"Down on the ground, nobody move!"

"Double agent, Jay," Chad whispered gleefully and Jared could only nod, pressed to the ground by unknown hands, Jensen down beside him.  He closed his eyes and hoped it would all come out okay, that there had to be a few good guys in there, among the crooked cops on Pellegrino's payroll.

 "I'm a motherfucking double agent."

 


	26. Protect and Serve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally know some very lovely, caring, competent people in law enforcement. Just none appear in this story.

"I want my one phone call!  This is bullshit!  Get me my lawyer!  I demand—"

"Oh my God, Chad," Jared hissed, feeling weary down to his bones. "Shut up!"

"We've been here for hours!" Chad whined.  He rattled the cuff locking his skinny wrist to the chair. "I have rights!"

"We've been here two hours, you don't have a lawyer, and you used your one phone call to order pizza."

"Which the cops ate!"

"Look," Jared said, voice still low.  He peered around, but Chad was only drawing the most uninterested of glances. "Just try to be more inconspicuous. Quieter."

"Why?" Chad asked, voice at a more conversational volume, but nowhere as near as soft as Jared's frantic whispering. "Because our good friend Tim said the cops were crooked?  News flash: he's a hitman.  Of course he hates cops."

They had been sitting in a dingy hallway down at the station for what felt to Jared like days, each respectively cuffed to an uncomfortable, heavy wooden chair.  Jared, barefoot and grimy, clad only in Chad's dress pants, and Chad, down to boxers, shoes and socks, a spray of Amanda's blood drying tacky under one ear.  Around the corner from their seats, there were rows of desks and ringing phones, people talking in low, unexcited voices and the shuffle of papers.

For one instant, in the flash of blue and red lights, Jared had expected…something.  A blanket for shock, a kind word, a "Hey, son" and an arm around his shoulders.  That flash of optimism that was still, horribly present, even when he should know better.  When he had been grabbed roughly and shoved about, some part of his brain had clicked back over.  This was life, this was _his_ life, and how dare he expect anything better.

After the initial flurry of activity, the group had been separated.  Jared had registered at least two different law enforcement agencies by their windbreakers—FBI and DEA respectively—and had watched dazedly as a subtle pissing match went on as to where they were being taken and by whom.  Amanda was loaded into one ambulance, Jensen into another, and finally Tim in next to Jensen—the dark material of his shirt hiding an injury he'd picked up somewhere, perhaps during the shootout in the elevator.  Jared had craned his neck anxiously when he saw that Tim's hem was actually dripping blood, but Tim had nodded reassuringly as he was hustled roughly away.

The rest of them had been taken back to the station in squad cars and separated—the girls whisked off to one room, Colin to another, and Jared and Chad tucked into the hallway like forgotten luggage.  A petite brunette detective with a bored smirk had come by to take their statements, raising an unimpressed eyebrow as they had babbled on and on—Chad in particular, embellishing the escape—before clicking her pen shut and ambling away without a word.

"Do you think they’re okay?" Jared asked, trying to change the subject, then winced at his own pathetic predictability.  Chad's ranting had been a distraction from worrying about Tim, about Amanda, and finally about Jensen.  Jensen, who had been unconscious and defenseless when they'd lifted him onto a stretcher.

"Asshole Ninja is probably fine."

"It's not just…him I'm worried about."

"Sure."

"I mean it."  Of course Jared was worried about everyone.  That he was proportionally more worried for Jensen, that he kept craning his neck, as if Jensen would just walk in and whisk Jared away—and how he didn't know how he felt about the idea—was something Jared was keeping to himself.  Jensen wasn't a hero.  Jared just kept casting him in that role in his mind, over and over.

"I'd be more worried for Amanda and Tim.  She got shot in the head and who knows what happened to him.  Gut shot, probably.  Tough motherfucker.  And of course that poor kid, man that's fucked up.  And Lauren, yeah, she seems like she's going to need a few decades of therapy—"

"Chad, if you're trying to make me feel better this isn't helping."

"—and that Danneel girl…well, she's probably fine, actually.  I mean, she might totally dyke out because of this, end up married to some big, beefy butch lesbian with tats up and down her arms—"

"Chad!"

"And of course, you're fine," Chad concluded, tilting his gaze towards Jared. "You are okay, aren't you?"

"I'm fine." Jared looked down at his bare toes.

"Dude, you lost your apartment, your job, and your freedom. Got kidnapped…had people doing…stuff to you.  You don't have to pretend to be bulletproof in front of me. I know…I know I haven't been the best friend." Chad sounded vulnerable, and Jared looked up to catch sight of Chad, squirming in his seat, looking miserable.

"It's fine, Chad."

"I was a shit friend."

Jared sighed. "You had your reasons.  I kind of bailed on you, too."

"I just…being high all the time made everything easier.  Just checking out, man."

"Chad, you came and rescued me.  Not just me, but the others, too.  That makes you a hero.  I think you've redeemed yourself."

"Hero, huh?" Chad puffed out his chest, looking pleased.

"Let's just not…give up on each other, okay?  Friends?"

"Yeah, but Jared I gotta tell you…I mean, I'm not going to be high constantly, but I'm still gonna get wrecked a lot.  Actually wish I was high right now.  Maybe it's just being shot at, but sobriety sucks. Everything is just a little too real.  Anyway, if you're looking for me to sober up completely…I think you're gonna be disappointed."

Jared smiled faintly. "I'm not going to try and change you. That's not…that's not how friendship works." _You carve out a space for someone_ , Jared thought _, and you just let them be_.

Chad looked skeptical. "You do have to expect _something_ from the people in your life, you know.  They can't be total assholes. That's not how relationships work."

"I know."

"Uh-huh."

"Mm."

"Okay, cool.  That's enough talking about our feelings.  I'm starting to feel like I'm on Oprah."

"Fine."

"We do need to talk about murder-boyfriend, though."

"He's not my boyfriend."

"He's something.  Hell, man, I don't even know how to talk about this with you.  I mean, what is happening there?"

Jared couldn't help but glance down the hall, still expecting Jensen to walk in.  Wanting it, dreading it.  Missing him.  Wanting…something, something like what he'd had, but different.  Knowing he could never have it. Having Jensen meant the loss of everything else.

"He's probably going to prison," Jared heard himself say, voice toneless. "Him and Tim both.  Misha…Krushnic, he was a police informant.  Who knows what information he gave them about Jensen."

"Dude, can I say that he's bad news? That you should forget him?"

"You can say whatever you want," Jared replied, and he curled up in his chair as best he could, turning away from Chad, body closed off.

Chad could say whatever he wanted, but he couldn't change how Jared felt. It was love—maybe love at its unhealthiest—but his heart wanted what it wanted.

They sat in the hallway for a while, bored, asses aching, tired and drowsy, despite the unknowns.  At some point there was a loud commotion at the end of the hallway, voices shouting, a door slammed.  Two FBI agents stormed past, faces dark with fury.  More shouting.  But eventually it tapered off and Jared fell into a low doze, jerking away at every loud noise, but then sliding easily back into sleep.

The click of his handcuff being unlocked woke him and opened his eyes and un-cricked his neck to see the brunette detective from before, crouched to one side.  Her nametag read "Miner" and she offered him another unimpressed arch of her brow before she stood stiffly and moved to free Chad as well.

"What now?' Jared asked, voice muzzy from sleep.

"You're free to go."

"Do they need us to…testify or anything," Chad asked and shook off sleep excitedly, wriggling in his seat. "Star witness on the stand, hell yeah!"

"Nope," Miner said, standing and stretching.

"What's happening?" Jared asked.

"Nothing," Miner said. "C'mon, I'll walk you out."

"Can I get some… clothes or something?"

"We got a lost and found box.  You're welcome to whatever you find in there, probably has lice."

They followed her down the hallway.  Jared frowned, "I don't understand.  Isn't Pellegrino in jail?  What happened?"

"She's dead."

"Dead?"

"Charged at an officer with a letter opener.  She was like a crazed machine, apparently took a bunch of rounds in the chest.  FBI's pissed.  They had this anti-organized crime hard-on that's gone limp. Hard to build a case around a dead body." There was a faint tinge of satisfaction in her tone. "They got nothing and nobody to charge. Planned a big mob takedown of two major families and then Pellegrino commits suicide by cop and some numb-nuts judge sets bail for Morgan, then he books it out of town."

So Jeff was free.  Jared wasn't sure how he felt about that information.

"What's going to happen…to the others?"

"Who?"

"Amanda…uh, Amanda Tapping."

"The Pellegrino crime family madam?" Miner snorted. "Dead.  Died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital."

Chad blustered, "But…but I thought she wasn't hurt that badly!"

The detective stopped walking and fixed Chad with a hard gaze.  She suddenly looked like less of a burnt-out pencil-pusher.  There was something dangerously quiet in her tone. "You ask a lot of questions.  What's it to you?"

"Please," Jared said, heart pounding.  He tried to drag up a smile, look harmless. "Is Lauren okay? Colin? Danneel?  What's going to happen to them?"

"Social services came and got the kid. Abducted from his foster home a year ago.  They'll find a place for him.  The other two have already left. Free to go.  The redhead asked for directions to the nearest homeless shelter."

"Homeless…didn't you, help them find a hotel or something?"

Miner snorted. "You want me to call the Marriott for a couple of whores?  They didn't have a scratch on 'em, and they're useless now.  Like I told you, there isn't a case anymore."

Her callousness made Jared's skin crawl.  Still, he pressed on. "Jensen…Ackles.  And…Tim? What about them?"

"Morgan's men?  Don’t worry, we'll find them."

" _Find them_?!"

"Busted out of their ambulance on the way to the hospital," Miner said, voice hard. "Killed a couple cops on the way out, too."

**

Jared and Chad hovered just inside the entrance to the police station.  Outside it was dark, the streetlights on and casting a yellow glow, the night hazy with fog, making everything seem smaller, like the city was pressed down under some matte black ceiling.  It had been a wild scramble to the police station—dragged in and out of cars before Jared had had time to think—but now he had to get out and go…somewhere, under his own power.  His own choice, his own path.  Freedom.

He just had to take the first step.

"You okay, man?' Chad asked after several minutes.

"Not really," Jared said, sick of the fear, still there, after everything. Somehow the fact that he was deciding for himself, no one pulling his strings, just  made the terror that much worse.

"What's up?"

Chad didn’t know about the panic attacks, Jared thought. He'd handled it all on his own, never told a soul. Until Jensen.  But this wasn't something he could hide.  Jared was back to caring for himself, for being responsible for every decision. He needed to find a place to live, clothes, a job. 

He couldn't do those things if he was afraid to go outside.

"I'm agoraphobic.  It's bad.  Panic attacks when I step outside."

"Shit then, let me call a cab," Chad said and he stepped back in to talk to the desk sergeant before Jared could even speak.  Jared stood in the doorway and shivered and then Chad was back, saying casually, "Be about five to ten minutes."

They stood there, looking out at the night.  Jared kept his eyes low, on the sidewalk, not the sky.  He tried not to feel the helplessness of it all.

"So, pretty much everything is fucked up then?"

"Pretty much."

"I mean, I thought the cops—"

"No." _Not the ones in this town._

"Fucked up. Amanda…she seemed decent.  Shit, do you think the cops killed her?"

"I don't know." _Probably._

"Do you think…do you think Jensen is coming for you?"

"I don't want to talk about it.  Just, not now."  Jensen, at least, wasn't dead like Amanda.  He and Tim were out there somewhere, free.  Would Jensen come for Jared?  Most definitely, Jared thought.  But probably not tonight.  Not an injured, wanted man, looking for a safe haven.

But he would come.

And how would Jared react when that day came.  He had no illusions about the situation.  He would go with Jensen.

He would walk into that cage.

Jared stifled a scream behind his fist, disguised it as a yawn.

"You okay going to my place?"

"Sure.  Thanks.  Where are you living now, anyway?"

"Actually, I'm still in my parents' basement…Jared, you okay?'

"Basement," Jared gasped, bent over with laughter.  He grabbed his side and howled, body shaking as he laughed, and if a few tears escaped his eyes to trickle down his cheeks, they could have been tears of mirth.  Beside him, Chad watched with concern.

"Dude?"

"No, it's perfect, Chad.  Your parents' basement.  Perfect.  Let's go home." Jared wiped his eyes and smiled a wobbly smile.

The cab finally pulled up and they climbed in, Jared ducking down to avoid looking at the expanse of sky.  He curled up in the corner of the cab and watched out the window as they headed for home.

 


	27. New Place, Same Basement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated, let me know if I missed anything. Also I am back to working full time (please kill me) so expect a huge drop in output. Sigh.

_"Are you awake?" asked a voice, rough and low, that luscious command familiar, and Jared moaned._

_"Master."_

_He had been so alone._

_"Yes, there's my boy."  A warm hand, sweeping over his forehead and down, possessive fingers digging deep into his hair, trailing along his scalp, sending tingles down his neck._

_"Can't see you." Jared tried to open his eyes.  He couldn't.  In the black-red behind his lids, he could imagine Jensen.  Those green eyes hot with pleasure and hunger.  But he couldn't see.  Jared whined and tried to twist away.  Couldn't move.  Tied down.  He didn't like being tied down._

_He could feel how naked he was from the waist down, gooseflesh rippling across his thighs.  But from the waist up he was caught, restrained.  Confined in something so tight that he could barely struggle._

_"Stop that," Jensen said, voice mild with menace, and Jared shivered and did._

_"What's happening?"_

_"Quiet.  It doesn't matter, does it?  What's happening to you?  You belong to me."_

_"Master," Jared whispered.  He could move his legs, but his ankles were strapped down, feet flat on a cool surface and knees in the air.  He yanked on one of the restraints and got a stinging slap on his hip for the trouble._

_"Stop that."_

_"I'm sorry."_

_"I know you are, baby."  The hand in his hair slid down, cupped the back of his skull, dug blissfully into the tension of his neck. Cradled.  He could bear anything, as long as those hands were on him._

_"Missed you.  Missed you so much."_

_"I know you did," Jensen said and the hand that had slapped him now stroked his bare skin, up and down, from the cut of his hip to the curve of his knee, soothing._

_"You came back."_

_"Did you want me to?"_

_"I—"_

_"Hardly matters.  You knew I would."_

_"Yes," Jared moaned.  He tried again to sit up, to open his eyes.  He couldn't._

_"Hush."_

_"Why can't I see?"_

_"Should I tell you I blinded you?" Jensen's voice was thick with playful satisfaction. "That I blinded you so that you can't ever run away again?"_

_"Never ran away," Jared answered stubbornly.  He felt hurt at the accusation.  Somehow, the idea that Jensen saw him as a runaway hurt more than the idea of losing his sight._

_"You wanted to," Jensen replied, hands still kneading, stroking._

_Jared sighed. He didn't know what he wanted. "It seemed like the right thing to do."_

_"Now you can't," Jensen said.  The hands moved away, and Jared whimpered.  There was the sound of water running, the rushing noise of a faucet or shower, then Jared jerked as a warm spray was pattering down on his bare skin._

_"What are you doing?"_

_"Taking care of you," Jensen said.  There was the spray of water and the stroke of a hand, moving along Jared's feet, his legs, his pelvis, following the flow of the water.  It felt incredible._

_"Please—"_

_"No more worrying.  There's nothing you can do but just lie here and take what I'm going to give you.  Do you understand?"_

_"Yes…"_

_"You don’t have to worry about a thing.  That's my job now.  Every inch of you belongs to me."_

_The scent of peppermint spiked in Jared's nostrils as the water quieted and the hands drew away.  He lay there, quivering, skin cooling.  Then the hands were back, this time with soap, circling around his knees, digging into the flesh on his thighs, reaching back to cup his ass.  One soap-slick speared into his opening, twisting and crooking, and Jared arched off the surface he'd been tied to, moaning._

_He'd been empty so long._

_"Oh, God."_

_Another slap, this time to his half-hard dick. It hurt, but Jared moaned again, his cock filling.  Any touch, any touch at all.  Anything to get Jensen's hands on him again._

_"Always such a greedy thing," Jensen murmured and Jared felt himself flush with shame, even as he leaned into Jensen's touch, aching for more.  Two fingers were dragging luxuriously inside his ass, another hand tugging his cock, fingers twisting roughly at the crown.  One soapy finger pressed against his slit and he winced, even as he moaned louder.  He was tingling all over._

_"Hurts."  It felt good, too._

_"Does it now?" Jensen asked, amused, and Jared frowned.  It was hurting, more and more.  His skin had gone from tingling to burning._

_"Ow."_

_"That's the peppermint oil in the soap."_

_"It's burning!"_

_"It's not that bad."_

_"It hurts!"_

_"You'll bear the pain for me," Jensen soothed and Jared wriggled desperately, wanting to be good, unable to keep still. There was a hand, gripping his knee, as Jared writhed as much as he was able, every inch of him stinging, inside and out.  His ass clenched as the fingers deep inside his ass spread pain, sliding that fire deeper and deeper. Even the inside of his cock was burning, where the soap had seeped in._

_"Still hard as a rock, I see." One slippery hand slid up from root to tip and Jared swallowed a scream._

_"Please, Jensen! Jensen!"_

_"You can't do anything about it," Jensen said, pleased.  He slid one hand down to Jared's hip. "Now, you're going to want to hold very still for this next part."_

_The fingers inside his ass withdrew and Jared choked on a groan of relief-disappointment.  Then there was something smooth and cold, a rod of thin metal, being stroked alongside the tender flesh of his cock._

_"What?"_

_"Hands are a bit slippery," Jensen said conversationally. "You need to not move, pet.  This is going inside you. I'm going to slide it down inside your cock, then I'm going to fuck you with it. Slip it in and out of your slit, see if it makes you come. I bet it will."_

_"Don't.  Jensen, please don't."_

_"You don’t get to decide," Jensen said sternly. "Just let go."_

_"I'm scared."_

_"I like that you're scared. I've always liked it.  Let go.  It's past time for you to learn that there's nothing you can do to stop me.  And you don’t want to stop me anyway. You know that."_

_Slick, icy metal touched the tip of Jared's cock.   He trembled, waiting._

_"Let go."_

_"Jensen—"_

_"That's not what you call me."_

_"Master.  Please…" Jared tried to hold still, tried to ignore the burning._

_"Don’t you think you've struggled enough?" Jensen said softly. "Suffered enough?  Belong to me.  I promise, I'll only give you the good kind of pain. What you need. Let go."_

_Jared sighed deeply and all of a sudden, his brain clicked over.  In a wave, a wash of languidness swept over his body.  Let go.  He could.  I wanted to.  He was ready._

_He felt the fight and tension drain out of his body.  His legs fell open, muscles relaxing._

_"Good pet," Jensen purred with approval.  Then that thin cold rod was pressing at the hole of his cock, sliding inside him._

_It stretched him uncomfortably, his dick aching deep inside.  He could feel it sliding down, down.  Invading him. It felt huge, although he knew it couldn't be._

_"There.   How does it feel?"_

_"Hurts.  Ow, hurts."_

_"That's the soap on the sound," Jensen replied and Jared cried out as Jensen began to slide the rod in and out, slow, deep pumping sweeps, fucking Jared's cock._

_"Please!"_

_"Hold very, very still," Jensen reproved, and Jared did, but it was hard.  It burned and felt good at the same time, his dick just another part of him belonging to Jensen, another piece of him to invade and fuck and own.  The sound paused and then there was something pushing into his ass, stretching him open.  Every inch of him felt ravaged, his ass and dick penetrated, his skin on fire.  He couldn't writhe, he couldn't, but every muscle trembled._

_"Gonna come…"_

_"Of course you are," Jensen said, amused and the thing in Jared's ass started to vibrated.  He whined, high in his throat as Jensen resumed pumping the sound in and out again._

_"Master! Master!"_

_"Missed fucking you."_

_As the sound was tugged out of his dick in one last, stinging slide, Jared screamed and came.  His hips arched up as sensation rocked his body.  Every part of him hurting so, so good.  He felt the spatter of come falling on his hips, his legs.  He moaned again as the vibrator in his ass dragged one last hard pulse through his body, even more come leaking out and dripping down his cock._

_"Master, please…"_

_"Good boy."_

_The vibrations stopped and the plug was eased from his ass.  A cool sluice of water began to spray down on his bare skin, and Jared jerked and shivered.  Again that cruel-gentle hand, tracing along his body, dipping into every crease and crevasse, helping to wash the burn away._

_"Want to see you."_

_"Hush, just lie here," Jensen said. The water turned off. That hand was back in his hair and Jared could feel tears leaking out of where his eyes should be, wetting his temples._

_"Jensen."_

_"Hush."_

_"Want to kiss you.  Want to see you.  Please." He tried to lean into the touch, but found he could barely move.  He just wanted one moment of Jensen's flesh against his mouth, the touch and smell and taste of him._

_"This is your life now," Jensen said, still stroking Jared's hair._

_That sounded both terrible and wonderful.  Jared nodded, as much as he was able._

_"O-okay."_

_"Okay," Jensen repeated, voice affectionate._

_"Cold.  Cold and wet."_

_"You are," Jensen said.  He bent close, and Jared could feel warm breath against his ear.  "It's time to wake up now."_

Jared snapped awake.

He was on the couch, blanket tangled around his arms and neck, half on, half off, legs dangling on the floor.  The vent in the ceiling was blasting warm air down on him, but he was so cold.  The front of his jeans were sticky and wet.

Just another dream.

"Hey, man."

On the other end of the couch, hands on a game controller and a candy cane sticking out of his mouth, Chad was studiously not looking at him.

"I'm awake."

"Good.  Merry Christmas eve, by the way." Chad's voice was carefully casual.

"I fell asleep?"

"Came home from your shift and passed out.  Didn't miss much.  My mom burned everything but the sweet potato casserole.  There might be some left if you want to risk going upstairs."

"No, it's fine."  He had a food stash in a cupboard in the bathroom that Chad was half-pretending didn’t exist.  Granola bars and applesauce pouches and beef jerky.  Processed food in containers, food that couldn't be easily tampered with. He could eat later.  If he felt hungry.

"Gonna take a shower," Jared said, hauling himself off the couch.  He was still in his dirty clothes from work, t-shirt with the Rhodes' bar logo on the pocket nearly obliterated by washings, jeans still stained with grime and liquor from his work in the stockroom.

"Good 'cause you smell like the bar floor."  If Chad could see the wet stain on Jared's pants, he gave no sign.  His eyes were still locked on the screen in front of him, avidly trained on the carnage his avatar was wreaking.

Chad had always been quite good at pretending nothing was wrong.

At least once a week now Jared woke up from a nightmare that wasn't exactly a nightmare.  More often than not, Chad was already there, sitting on the couch, face carefully neutral.  If he'd shaken Jared awake, he never mentioned it.  Chad's parents' house wasn't that big, and the basement wasn't really finished.  There wasn't much room for two grown men and only one bed.  Still, it was more space that Jared was used to in that cell back with Jensen.

It was getting to be a disturbing routine.  Jared got up and showered, shivering.  The water never got much past tepid at Chad's house.  He went through the usual steps: wash, jerk off again, cry a bit in self-pity, wonder about where Jensen was, hate himself for wondering where Jensen was, then pull up his big boy pants and get out and towel off. Get dressed in the bedroom, which was framed but not drywalled, and had no door.

It had been months.  Months with no sign of Jensen.  Jared had long stopped pretending that his disappointment was relief at the reprieve.

He felt discarded. Unwanted.

He worried that Jensen was still hurt.  Or dead.

Back on the couch, Chad had exchanged his candy for a joint, blunt dangling from his fingers, the sweet scent of pot already in the air.  He passed Jared the controller, content to let Jared take over the game as he leaned his head back and puffed a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.

"So," Chad said after a while.

"So."

"Maybe you should see a therapist, huh?"

"I thought we agreed not to nag each other," Jared said, eyes on the game.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Chad hold up the joint in offer and Jared leaned over and wrapped his lips around it, took the hit.  He sucked in smoke and the puffed his own cloud at the ceiling.  A little of the tension eased out of his body.  It felt good.

His childhood self would laugh, Jared thought.  He remembered how self-righteous he had been when Chad had started smoking.  Gateway drug and all of that.  And then Chad had started fooling around with the harder stuff and Jared had felt sickly vindicated.  Yet here he was, getting mellow with Chad on a ratty old couch.

The pot helped.  It helped a lot.

He hadn't sought out any drugs of his own.

There had been a brief withdrawal period, with nausea and cramps and sleeplessness, as Jared's body had purged whatever Amanda had been giving him.  And then he had been too preoccupied with getting a job and suffering through panic attacks on the public bus to worry about addiction.

There was a dealer at the bar and Kim, the bar's owner, had a pharmacy's worth of pill bottles in her gaping purse.  He could get something close to what he'd been given before, if he wanted it.

So far he'd managed not to.

But it was nice to have options.

"You not nagging me about the amount of pot I smoke does not compare with me not nagging you about your obvious posttraumatic stress. I think you should see someone."

"Too expensive."

"Send the bill to me," Chad said airily.

"No," Jared replied firmly. "Not when every third day you're calling an Uber to take me home.  I'm not interested in sending your credit card debt through the roof.  We're supposed to be saving money so we can get out of here."

"We'll get there."

"I'm fine," Jared replied. "I've got a job, I'm leaving the house, and I've got some internet resources…"

"Chatting with some teenager who thinks she's got triggers because she watched Saw—"

"People with real problems," Jared interrupted, annoyed. "Look, I'm doing the best I can.  It’s only been a few months.  Let's just get out on our own and then we can worry about where I can get a hundred bucks to sit in a room for an hour with someone who's just gonna nod wisely and say, 'and how does that make you feel?'"

"And how does that make you feel?" Chad asked, smirking a little and Jared rolled his eyes and leaned in for another hit.

After a while, Chad said, "What are we even going to call…what's happening to you.  'Cause I know there are nightmares and there are wet dreams, are we calling these 'wet-mares'?"

"Oh God, shut up." He handed Chad back the controller.

"It's just, dude, kinda hard not to notice what's going on."

"We could talk about how you're supposed to be studying for your G.E.D."

"Ugh," Chad said, shuddering. "Let's not. I need a break." His shoulders got tense. "And my brother's upstairs."

"That asshole."

"Yes, it's Christmas.  That asshole."

It was enough, for the moment, to sit side by side.  To relax in the hazy room and focus only on what was happening on the screen.  Tiny people on quests, fighting monsters, collecting gold.  Failure was solved as easily as hitting the reset button.  Jared settled down, head drifting to rest on one couch arm, and thought about his dad.  Thought about the Christmases Chad had spent at their house, Chinese take-out from that great place down the street, quiet talking and laughter.  Even though he knew better, Jared couldn't help but wish the door to the basement would open and his dad would be standing there, telling him it was time to come home, and with a slight, sympathetic frown on his face, offering to let Chad sleep over if he wanted to.

He had almost drifted back to sleep when the door banged open.

"You little motherfucker!"

"Hey, Chet," Chad said.  His face was a study in nonchalance, but his body was tense, ready for flight.

"You stole my fucking credit card!"  Stomping feet moved toward them.  Chet always sounded like he was eight feet tall, when in fact he was shorter than Chad.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You little fucker, you're really gonna get it this time," Chet said, reaching for Chad's arm, and Jared sighed and stood up.

He turned to face Chad's brother, stepping around the couch and was gratified to see he could still make a man six years older than him turn sickly white.  Chet swallowed hard, piggy face pale with fear, and he took a step back from his younger brother.

"J-Jared…"

"Hi Chet," Jared said, stretching nonchalantly, feeling his t-shirt pull over the muscles in his chest.  He had put back on some weight, mostly wiry muscle, from lifting boxes at his job.  He felt physically stronger, like he took up more space, and the feeling was nice.

"Look, he took my credit card," Chet said, almost apologetic, weak, as if he hadn't left bruises on Chad nearly every day of his life. As if he hadn't sent his little brother to the first day of third grade with a black eye.

"I'll speak to him," Jared said softly. "It won't happen again."

"Okay.  Hey, didn't know you were here.  Have a good Christmas."

He hastily beat an exit, stomping back up the stairs.  The door slammed.

Chad crowed, "He's still shitting his pants because of you!  That was hilarious!"

"Chad, did you steal his credit card—"

"I mean, you beat him up when you were eleven," Chad continued, laughing hysterically. "He had to get his nose reset in the emergency room and he's _still_ shaking in his boots when he sees you!"

"He deserved it," Jared replied softly.  He had.  He had deserved it.

Jared's dad hadn't agreed.

"Man, I'm sorry," Chad said, quieting down, taking in Jared's sad expression. "Your dad—"

"Did you take his credit card?  Is that how you can afford to get me a ride when I'm too freaked out to get on the bus?"

"It's reparations," Chad replied, tone haughty.

"Chad—"

"It's not like he's hurting for money."

"No more stolen credit cards," Jared said firmly.

"Dude, you're harshing my mellow," Chad said, laying his head back on the couch, dropping the controller.  He picked up the remote and switched to cable, flipping through until he found some cartoons. "Fine.  I'll stop using his card.  Took him long enough to notice. Do we have any chips down here? I don’t want to go upstairs."

There were in fact, chips in Jared's stash of food.  Sighing, Jared got up and grabbed some.  When he sat back down he found that he was, in fact, hungry enough or perhaps high enough to have some.  The first few bites were the hardest, but then he settled in, crumb-sticky hand brushing Chad's occasionally as they both reached into the bag, and before he knew it the food was gone.

"We need to get a place with a kitchen," Chad said dreamily.

"You don't cook."

"Get at least a balcony and put a grill out there…"

"Uh-huh."

"Steaks, man.  And corn on the cob…"

"I'll get more chips," Jared said and laughed a bit as Chad moaned a bit, rubbing his stomach.

And later, after the second bag was gone, Chad tilted his head toward Jared and said, "You know you can talk to me, man."

"Pass."

"What, I could be like Dear Abby or whatever.  Dr. Ruth. Dr. Phil.  Dr. Oz."

"You're watching too much daytime television."

"I'm just saying…"

Jared sighed. "Fine. I'm dreaming about Jensen…"

"Ninja asshole, got it." Chad steepled his fingers.

"I'm dreaming about him coming back and getting me. Taking me home.  In…in the dream I want to be there.  I'm fine with what…he's doing.  But then I wake up and I'm not sure how I feel about anything and I hate myself."

"Shit."

"So, what am I supposed to do about it, doc?" Jared asked.

"Um, can I have thirty minutes on Google—"

"See," Jared said. "Talking isn't going to help."

"I dunno, man," Chad said. "Maybe you shouldn't hate yourself, though.  You didn't ask for any of this."

"But I feel…"

"You can feel however you want," Chad said. "You can't control how you feel.  You haven’t been trying to find him, have you? To go with him?"

"No."

"Then give yourself a break."

"Thanks, Dr. Phil," Jared said, trying to smile.  He didn’t mention how he felt about Jensen looking for him.  And how he would probably go with him, no complaint, no fight, just to be with him.  How badly he missed him.

He loved him that much.

"See, told you I got this," Chad said, snuggling back into the couch.  "Hey maybe I should major in psychology."

"Sure," Jared said.  After Chad managed to pass his G.E.D. After they had found an apartment.  After they had scraped together enough money for community college.

Someday.

"Let's see if 'Die Hard' is on," Chad said and reached for the remote.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But don't you think all these dream sequences are a bit of a cheat?"  
> "CAN'T YOU SEE I'VE WRITTEN MYSELF INTO A CORNER" *crouches, hisses, bites reader*


	28. Unsatisfactory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand sweet kisses to everyone reading and commenting. Such joy you bring me with your words. This is the last chapter. I hope it satisfies.

When the other shoe finally dropped, Jared was at the bus stop, clinging wet-handed to one side of the plastic bench, having a panic attack.

He was alone, breath coming in billows, eyes locked on a crack on the sidewalk. The few people who did pass by skirted him carefully, as anxious as ants.

Chad was at home. Although he had tried to time their shifts so that they left work together, this time Chad had fallen off the wagon. Again. He had been too hungover to work.

"I told you to expect this," Chad had snapped, head over the toilet seat, as Jared showered a few feet away. Even through the warped plastic shower curtain, Jared could see the guilt in Chad's eyes, a contrast to his vicious tone. He had been working so hard to be the support Jared was weak enough to admit he needed.

"I can make it to work on my own," Jared had answered neutrally. It was hard to come across as supportive instead of judgemental.

"Ugh, just kill me," Chad had groaned, and retched again into the bowl, as Jared stepped out and hastily grabbed his towel.

Chad had shouted after him, "And this level of nudity between friends isn't normal!"

To that Jared hadn't responded.

They were living in close quarters, and there was no way to hide the little scars that had been left from his ordeal. Of course Jared's disregard of basic modesty wasn't normal. Hoarding food wasn't normal. Nightmares that ended in wet sheets wasn't normal.

Panic attacks at the sight of the open sky weren't normal.

Nothing to do but keep going. Survive. Endure. Nothing this terrible could last forever.

 _An eternity in an hour_ , Jared thought suddenly, wheezing harder, and he tried to focus, to breath slowly and to use some of the tips he read online in anxiety forums. Gripping the bench harder, he tried to ground himself by cataloging what he could see and smell, feel and hear.

Used condom. Bus exhaust. Gritty plastic. A car back-firing.

Jared closed his eyes and tried harder. 

Green eyes. Musk and salt. Rough hand in his hair. Low thrum of a voice calling his name.

"Jared."

Blinking, Jared looked up.

Blue eyes and dark brows and it was Tim, gathering him up almost before Jared fully recognized him, pulling him into the warm, safe place that was Tim's shoulder. He sobbed into it, already feeling his body growing limp, surrendering.

"Sir."

Safety. He softened further as Tim made a cage around him with his arms.

He'd been waiting for this.

His brain jittered between _oh fuck_ and _at last_ and then he finally shut everything out, breath slowing and went under.

Tim stroked his back and held him for some time.

"You okay?" Jared asked softly.

"Fine."

"You got shot."

"I didn't."

"There was blood..."

"Amanda's blood, not mine. Smeared it on my shirt. Got me into the ambulance, which was what I wanted. I'm fine, Jared."

"Oh."

"Come on," Tim said finally and Jared followed obediently. There was a sleek sedan across the street, complete with stern faced, bearded driver and Jared allowed himself to be folded into the back seat, as docile as a lamb. Tim slid in beside him and Jared managed a watery smile.

"You okay, kid?"

"No." Jared laughed softly. "Never am."

"You're hanging in there."

"By the skin of my teeth."

"Jensen...Jensen sent me."

"Of course he did. Six months. I expected him sooner."

"Jared, he needed to...put his plan in order."

"You sound conflicted, Tim," Jared murmured, tilting against the window. Sky was so beautiful and so much safer from behind a window. He wondered when he'd ever see it again.

"You look good. Better now that you've got some color in your face. Put on some weight."

"Just drive please," Jared said. "I don't want to think too much. I might break a window or something. Just take me...wherever you're taking me."

"It's a choice," Tim said, shifting uneasily. He seemed to want to say more.

Jared snorted. "Sure."

Tim sighed, then leaned forward, addressing the driver. "Go ahead, Jim. You know where to go."

The car pulled away from the curb and Jared sagged back against the smooth leather seat. Finally.

No more waiting.

He hoped at least he'd have time to request that Tim notify Chad. He didn't want his friend to worry. Or would knowing that Jared had willingly walked into Jensen's clutches make things worse?  
It hurt his head to try to think about it. Anyway, thinking wasn't the point. He shoved everything aside and just stared out the window.

Jared wasn't sure where he had expected to be taken. Seedy warehouse district? Abandoned farmhouse? No, Jensen was an urban guy. Maybe a tasteful brownhouse, all the horrors hidden neatly underground. Another basement, underneath new, dark hardwood floors.

He wasn't expecting to be driven to a sleek, modern apartment complex, neat and inoffensive, in a nicer part of town.

"Where are we?" Jared asked, suspicious. He'd told himself he wouldn't wonder, wouldn't ask questions.

But this place.

One good, loud scream would summon an irate neighbor to bang on the door, building manager in tow.

He couldn't imagine being held here.

"It's a nice building," Tim said, getting out of the car, small attache case in hand. He held the door open. "Good security. People keep pretty much to themselves."

He walked towards the entrance, leaving Jared in the backseat with his curiousity.

Jared scurried out, face turned to the ground. He was so focused on keeping it together and getting inside that he nearly ran over Chad, standing in the lobby.

"Dude!" Chad said, still looking pale and red-eyed, but grinning nonetheless. "This place is awesome."

"What are you doing here?"

"Tim called me. For a minute I thought he wanted to recruit me for another mission. Maybe rescue some hot cheerleaders." He danced from foot to foot.

"I have a proposition for you," Tim said, ignoring Chad's antics. "A proposition for you both. No cheerleaders involved. Follow me."

They rode the elevator to the four floor, and exited into a quiet, well-lit hallway. Tim stopped in front of door marked "420" and fished a key from his pants pocket.

"420," Chad whispered loudly, nudging Jared and snickering.

"Yes, Chad, I know what that means," Tim replied dryly, pushing open the door. "Please come in."

The apartment was bland but spacious, beige walls and beige carpeting. Plenty of light.  
Jared frowned, taking in a small kitchen, a balcony just past the living area. With a whoop, Chad juked to the left, disappearing down a hallway and out of sight.

"What is this?" Jared asked.

"Your place," Tim answered. "Yours and Chad's. If you want it."

"Ours?"

"This side has the master! I call dibs!" Chad shouted and then he raced past them to the right and down the other side of the apartment.

"Your rent for the next two years will be paid in full," Tim said.

"What?!"

"Dude, this side also is a master," Chad shouted from the other room, voice muffled.

"It's a dual suite!" Tim shouted back, finally annoyed.

"I don't understand," Jared said.

"Sit down," Tim said and gestured toward the tile countertop that separated the kitchen from the living room. There were two stools tucked under the lip of the counter and Jared pulled one out and sat down numbly.

Tim put his case on the counter and opened it. He took out a sheaf of papers and set them in front of Jared, along with a pen.

"Here's the rental agreement," Tim said, turning over a page. "You and Chad need to sign the lease, but the rent is paid automatically from an account. Here's the monthly stipend for utilities, groceries, and other sundry expenses--"

"Stipend?" Jared exclaimed just as Chad stumbled out of the hallway. "A monthly stipend?"

"I'm sorry, I just came in," Chad said, plopping down next to Jared. "But is Tim giving away free money?"

"It will be up to you to be responsible and create a budget," Tim said, looking down his nose at Chad.

"Dude, free money!"

"No strippers, Chad."

"You're a killjoy, Tim."

"A separate fund has been made available for your education," Tim continued, turning a page over. "The amount should be sufficient to cover tuition and books for both Chad and yourself. Two years at a community college. I've already filled out the paperwork to have you both re-enrolled at your previous school. You need to set up an appointment with Disabled Student Services. You both need support."

"Hot damn!" Chad exclaimed.

"You went to college, Chad?" Jared asked, startled at the use of the words 'previous school.'

Chad shrugged, looking embarrassed. "Tried. Managed to get my head together a bit after I fucked up high school and then I enrolled. First class was Math 101. I noped out of there on the second day."

Jared turned to Tim. "What is all of this?"

"I just explained--"

"Why are you doing all this? Is it you or is it _him_?" Jared stopped, realizing his voice had become thin and strident. Nearly shrieking.

Chad blinked. He looked at Tim, then Jared, and bounded out of his seat. "Gonna go check out the tubs. Again."

He darted off down the hall.

Tim said kindly, "I suppose that's his pathetic attempt to give us privacy. Now, Jared--"

"Is this you or _him?_ " Jared interrupted. "And why?"

"He wants this for you," Tim replied firmly. "This is Jensen's money."

"Doesn't."

"Doesn't what?"

"He doesn't want this for me," Jared said, voice wobbling. "You know what he wanted for me. What he wanted me for."

"People change--"

"No they don't!" Jared shouted.

"Wow, this faucet sure is shiny!" Chad called from the other room.

"He doesn't change," Jared insisted. He stared down at the papers in front of him. "What is all this?!"

"Reparations," Chad shouted from the other room. "Um, I mean, wow I've never seen electrical sockets this nice before."

Tim reached out, the pulled his hand back when Jared jerked away from his touch.

"He thinks throwing money at me with take back what he did to me?!"

"That isn't it," Tim answered.

"Take back everything that happened?! Bring back the dead!?"

"No."

"Where is he?"

"Jared--"

"Why did he leave me?" Jared shouted and then he felt himself crumple forward at the awful realization. He pushed the papers out of the way and bent his forehead to the cool tile. Tears trickled slowly down his cheeks.  
Weak and pathetic.

A hand was gently stroking his hair, long fingers combing through.

"Is it hard to believe that he wants to take care of you?"

"It's a pay off," Jared muttered bitterly. Then he lifted his head and turned his watery eyes to Tim.

"No."

"Or it's all part of something else even more horrible."

"Things haven't been awful enough?" Tim asked gently.

He'd already revealed everything, humiliated himself, so Jared pressed forward stubbornly. "He's done with me. Is he done with me? Is that why he's not here? Is he okay?"

"Jared, we're both on the FBI's most wanted list. For the first time, the authorities have Jensen's information, his picture. Misha did a damned good job making sure of that, even more so than he did for me. It's not safe for him, Jared."

"Don't care," Jared said petulantly, then dropped his head back to the counter top.

"You obviously care a lot."

"God help me."

Tim stroked Jared's hair some more. "Did you really want to live the rest of your life in a cage?"

"Because that's a shit idea!" Chad shouted. "Unlike this cool wallpaper!"

"I wanted to be with him," Jared whispered. It was the truth. "I would have done anything. But I don't want this. I don't trust it. I can't."

"If you would have done anything," Tim said, "then do this. Be this for him. Take the money. He can't be here with you now. I can't really be here either."

"You're leaving, too?!"

"I'm leaving you with a contact. Jim Beaver. You've met him, sort of, he was driving the car. He's competent and I trust him. After this, all communication will go through him. It's the safest way."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Heal," Tim said firmly. He reached for another page of paper. "From what I've observed the past few months, you're doing pretty good on your own. Going to work, saving money. Managing your phobias. But you could use a therapist. Jim has a list of reputable ones, there's money for that, too. He can schedule you an appointment. And I know you're not a fan of taking drugs, but you probably could use some of those as well. Safely prescribed, of course."

"It's not at all creepy that you've been stalking us," Chad shouted.

"Just pretend none of this ever happened," Jared said bitterly. "Is that it?"

"If you're still...taking orders," Tim hedged, uncertainty creeping into his voice. "Consider these his commands. This is what he wants you to do."

Chad ambled back into the living room. "You know, neither of us is going to be able to get a degree in two years."

"No, you're not," Tim agreed and he looked intently at Jared.

Blinking, Jared looked back. And thought. And then knew.

"Oh."

He wasn't sure if he felt elated or terrified.

It was a time limit, or a promise or something.

Both hope and despair. But he couldn't help smiling, just a little.

"What?" Chad said. Then he cursed. "Wait! So you're telling me we get two years reprieve before Evil Ninja comes back and makes us his bitches?"

"Nobody wants you, Chad," Tim said. "But essentially, all of us need time. Things need to change. We'll be in touch, but both Jensen and I have a lot to do. And we need to be invisible while we do it. Two years or less. He won't stay away longer."

"You'll be in touch?" Jared asked, wincing at the need in his voice. Two years. Two years to wait in limbo.

It felt like forever.

"I hate that I know any of this!" Chad yelled. "Why does this deal feel Faustian?! What happens when the money runs out?! Did Jensen get a brain transplant and he's now not a total dickbag?"

"We both will," Tim replied, ignoring Chad, and reached into his case for one final item. He took out a letter and put it in Jared's hands. Expensive vellum envelope. Jared's name in slick, blue ink on the front. Same neat script.

"Read it once I'm gone," Tim said.

"And I need to go."

He put a business card down on top of all the papers. "Jim's contact info. He's a good guy, if a bit brusque. Anything you need, let him know."

Chad sighed. "Free money. Yay. Totally no strings attached."

They followed Tim out of the apartment and Jared walked slowly, feeling a bit like he had been hit by a sledgehammer. It was too fast, too much, Tim appearing like a fairy godmother, dumping a bunch of largess on them, and then spiriting away. A bit of good fortune, when Jared had only ever walked on the bad side of luck.

Too good to be true.

"It'll make things a lot easier," Chad murmured, as if he could tell what Jared was thinking.

"Yes." Much easier. Money greased the wheels in this world. Although Jared want sure easy was what he needed.

You could ignore the bad things much better when you were up against a hard, daily grind.

And Jared's good luck had never, ever turned out to be good at all.

"Maybe," Jared hedged. "Maybe we should just...stay where we are."

"Say no to free money?!" Chad sounded scandalized.

"I have almost enough saved up for us to get our own place. We can...Tim, where are you going?"

Tim had turned and walked down the hall to the apartment next door. He rapped on the door briskly.

"Tim?"

After a moment, a familiar redhead popped open the door.

"Fuck do you want?"

"Danneel?!"

"Goddess," Chad whispered.

She looked good. Still cream-skinned with a cat's smile, but this time clad in jean shorts and a halter top, sunburn pinking her shoulders.

"Stockholm and Monkey Boy. My new neighbors, I assume."

"Can you talk for a minute?" Tim asked.

"Top Chef is on!"

"Please."

"Whatever." She leaned against the door jamb.

"We...we looked for you," Jared stammered. "The shelter..."

"Yeah, that was a bitch," Danneel said. "Got out of there as soon as possible. Had to do a few things I'm not proud of, but then Mr. Tall, Dark and Deadly comes along with an offer for me and a fancy new apartment. I'm not usually into being a charity case. But who says no to free money?"

"No one!" Chad agreed.

"What about Lauren?" Jared asked.

Danneel smiled a brittle smile. "Went her own way, I guess. She actually has family. At least some of us have people who give a fuck."

"They'll be staying next door," Tim said firmly, looking at Jared. "Keep an eye on them for me."

"They're grown ass men," Danneel said, looking unimpressed. "At least one of them is. They can take care of themselves."

"For me," Tim said graciously and bent to press a kiss to her knuckles. She blushed, then frowned, pushing his jaw away with a gentle fist.

"Whatever." Shrugging, she went back into her apartment and shut the door.

"None of that money is earmarked for weed," Tim said sternly, dropping the keys into Chad's hands. "Don't make me send Jim in to curtail your spending, Chad."

"I got a job. I can buy my own pot, Dad."

"I'm glad we understand each other," Tim said. He reached out and pulled Jared into a warm embrace.

"Don't go," Jared whispered in his ear. He clung tight.

"You'll be fine," Tim said and he gently pulled away. "Both of you will." He clapped Chad on the shoulder.

"Jared's the favorite, I see. Thanks, Dad."

"I really wouldn't pull that 'daddy' stuff with me," Tim said, blue eyes stern. He gave Chad a hard look. "Unless you're looking to get put over my knee."

"Sheesh," Chad muttered, turning pink.

"Be good," Tim said and headed towards the stairwell.

"No elevator?" Chad asked.

Tim smiled. "Maybe I have a phobia of my own. It involves being trapped in an elevator, being shot at by a maniac. I'll take the stairs."

After the door closed behind him, Chad turned to Jared.

"What the hell, man."

"I know."

"What the hell."

"We could just leave," Jared said, but one look at Chad's face and he knew he wouldn't.

Maybe it was time to get out of the basement and into the light.

"I mean, suppose we could just try and enjoy it, right?"

"Before everything turns shitty, again?"

"Privacy! Hot water! A place to actually bring a hookup!" Chad crowed. He swung an enthusiastic arm over Jared's shoulders.

"Should we see if we have an Ikea fund?"

Jared shrugged, trying to smile. The letter was clasped tight in his hand, already crumpled by the heat of his grip. He wanted to know what it said.

The closest he had been to Jensen in months. Even if it was only words on paper.

Chad took one look at him and groaned. "Fine, read Señor Psycho's letter. I'll look through our loot. Deal?"

'Deal," Jared said and then walked back into their apartment together.

****

After entering the stairwell, Tim didn't go down to the ground floor. Instead he went up a level, exiting into the hallway of the fifth floor. He let himself into apartment "520" and locked the door.

"Everything went well," called a voice from the back bedroom.

"I'm tired of people shouting from another room," Tim muttered tiredly and he walked down the hall.

On the bed, Jensen reclined, laptop on his knees. He smiled slightly, then turned his green eyes back to the screen.

"You know, I can't say I approve of this idea," Tim said.

"It was your idea."

"No it was not. This was not what I meant."

"It's a great plan," Jensen said. "Money and security. A way to help Jared smile again."

"Which you can watch on your monitor."

"Just keeping an eye on him," Jensen said. His fingers flicked over the keys and the surveillance video feed of Chad sitting at the kitchen counter switched to one of the bedrooms. On the bare floor, Jared sat with his long legs crossed, his head down. His tawny hair fell around his face, longer now and sleek with health. The letter was opened and he was reading it. "Works well. How is he?"

"Why ask?" Tim asked. "You have hidden cameras in every room and the apartment bugged."

"It's not the same as being face to face. Honestly, Tim, I'm jealous of you."

"Adding Danneel to the mix was a bit over-the-top."

"Did you drop the hint that if he refused the offer, she might find herself out on the streets?"

"That would have been really over-the-top," Tim replied, rubbing his forehead. "And I wouldn't kick her out. I like her."

"I want status regular status reports from Jim. Where he goes, what he does, who he sees."

"I suppose it's too late to suggest crafting a relationship built on mutuality and honesty."

Jensen frowned. "Not my style."

"I guess not."

"This is already less than ideal," Jensen said. He shifted on the bed. His leg was still below optimal, and despite his patience with building his strength back up, he was concerned that the leg would never be the same. Staying out of sight for months had made him itchy and impatient.

"I'm heading out," Tim said gently. He would have liked to give Jensen a hug, but he knew the other man probably wouldn't go for it.

"When will you be back?"

"Jeff is setting up operations in Mexico for the time being, but he's got limited resources and manpower. Also, he doesn't trust anyone after what happened. I'll be there for a while, helping him and Alaina." Then softer, "You could come with us for a while. Jeff misses you."

"I'm going after Krushnic."

"He's fallen off the face of the planet," Tim said. "You probably won't have much luck."

"He's a man who holds a grudge," Jensen said. "I don't think Jared will be safe until that bastard's dead."

Tim nodded. He watched Jensen watching Jared for a moment. The hunger in his eyes. No, not love. Not exactly.

But an obsession, a fascination that would last a lifetime.

He was tempted to open his mouth, to offer advice, to suggest a softer path.

To temper Jensen's actions with wisdom.

He knew better.

"I'll be in touch," Tim said and pressed a hand to Jensen's shoulder. "Be safe."

He let himself out quietly.

Alone again, Jensen kept his eyes on the computer screen. He was aware of the door closing, of Tim leaving. But his mind was churning. Examining the situation from all angles.

His boy.

As cages went, it was definitely more subtle. True, Jared could walk out the door anytime he wanted, but Jensen was willing to bet he wouldn't.

"You'll fight for others, when you won't fight for yourself," he murmured.

Money was an effective control, a type of restraint. It wasn't as luxurious, as deliciously dark as the room Jensen had made for his pet, the fantasy he had imagined. Jared, warm and naked, collar at his throat, curled up like a cat. All that skin marked and decorated, both joy and fear in his pet's eyes at the end of the day, waiting for his master.

But he couldn't have that right now.

This was all he could have. A voyeur's eye view into Jared's new life, his boy constrained by schedules and appointments, not by chains.All he could have...for now.

He'd give himself a couple more days. A couple more days to watch with covetous eyes. The apartment was safe enough, he could be back anytime.

Jensen patted his laptop absently. The video surveillance feed he could watch any time, from anywhere.

And Jim had a whole stack of letters to deliver.

 


End file.
